Poison and Wine
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: AU. When Kurt Hummel's father died unexpectedly from a heart attack, he never thought he would have to turn to stripping to stay afloat. It was only supposed to be temporary. He never thought he would meet a starry-eyed prep school boy who would fall in love with him. But Blaine doesn't know anything about the real person behind the dancer. Klaine. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

"I'm here about the help wanted sign in the window."

The manager turned around, looked him up and down, and smirked. "Get outta here, kiddo," he said. "Get back to school."

He stood up a little taller, bristling. No one could call him kiddo. Not anymore.

"I can do it," he said, pressing his lips together. His empty stomach churned; he forced the feeling away. "I can. I have a three-octave range. I have cheerleading experience. I'll do whatever you ask me."

The manager gave another thorough searching look. He tried not to shiver. "Anything, huh?" the manager said. He held out his hand, beckoning. "Show me some ID. You twenty-one?"

"Uh-huh," he said, handing over the fake driver's license. It had been a gag gift for his last birthday- for getting beer, or cigarettes, or into a club. No one would ever expect he'd use it to get a job like this.

And no one was going to know.

The manager handed back the driver's license without batting an eyelash. "Get up on the pole and show me what you can do, kid," he said.

* * *

"Don't be so uptight," Sebastian laughed, elbowing Blaine playfully in the ribs.

"I'm not," Blaine stammered, nearly upending his too-strong rum and coke. "I mean, I'm just…I've never been to…_one of these places _before."

"It's a strip club," Sebastian said as he leaned back and draped an arm casually around Blaine's shoulders. "Go on, little angel face. You can say it. Strip…club."

"Fine, strip club," Blaine said irritably. He shifted in his seat. "When I told you we could go out tonight, this isn't what I meant."

"I know," Sebastian shrugged. "But this is what I meant."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue, to counter that _we always do what you want _or _you never listen to me, _but the emcee was announcing the next performance. He slunk in his seat miserably through the big muscled guy with the cowboy hat and the lanky…_well hung_ guy with the fireman's coat, flushing red as Sebastian whistled and tossed dollar bills on the stage. He also fervently hoped that his mother would never find out where he'd been.

"And now, for the highlight of the evening…"

Blaine never caught the name, because the crowd began to shriek. Apparently the regulars recognized the performer. He slunk back in his seat, angrily jabbing his straw into his drink as Sebastian plunged his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle of approval.

The curtains parted with a dramatic flourish and Blaine choked. He'd been prepared for another generic, seedy stripper- rippling pecs, tanned and oiled skin, slick hair, a gimmicky scrap of a costume. Not this. This was a boy who looked closer to his own age, young and fair and so blue-eyed that he could see the color all the way from the stage. He was beautiful.

The boy on the stage posed, preening for his screaming fans. He raised his slender white arms above his head, bending his knees with a slow easy glide. Unlike the strippers that preceded him, he was dressed almost normally in a white button down shirt and pants so tight it was almost obscene just to look at him.

And then the boy snapped up, popping his hips, and swung onto the stripper pole. Blaine spluttered on his rum and coke, some of the drink dribbling down his chin. "God, that kid is so damn attractive," Sebastian sighed, eyes glued to the boy on the stage even though his arm was still wrapped around Blaine's shoulders.

"Uh…yeah," Blaine stammered. "Yeah, uh, I guess…"

He was lying. He knew the kid was gorgeous. He was pale and slim and absolutely beautiful, his body contorting around the shining brass pole to the pulsing beat of the music. Blaine wiped his suddenly damp palms on his thighs.

The boy slipped a little, catching himself on his toes, and Blaine barely caught his expression before he turned around sharply. For a second the glossy performer's veneer slipped, and he saw the boy bite his lip. Blaine shifted in his seat.

The boy whipped back around, sly smile firmly in place, and he slid languidly out of his shirt before tossing it into the audience and leaping back onto the pole.

Blaine suddenly found himself with an armful of shirt.

Sebastian laughed, his mouth slack. "Oh, god, Blaine, you're gonna be fighting guys off for that," he slurred, squeezing his shoulders.

Blaine clenched his fingers. The fabric was still warm from the boy's body. Hints of makeup and glitter were rubbed off on the inside of the collar. Surreptitiously he ducked his head and breathed deeply- old fabric, cheap detergent, and something clean and crisp and soothing, like mint and rosemary.

He looked up and stared, slack-jawed, his heart pounding against his ribs in a staccato rhythm. The boy gripped the pole and arched back, his spine curving in a gravity-defying arc. Blaine swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry.

And then the boy stepped aside, thrusting his hips forward as he unfastened the front of his pants, mouth pursed in a naughty little O, and Blaine forgot entirely how to breathe.

_I don't even know his name, _he thought helplessly, shifting against the pressure pushing against the zipper of his pants. _Oh, god, I would do anything right now to know his name._

* * *

Kurt picked up his pants and ducked backstage into the instant chaos. "They're gonna be pissed that you threw your shirt out again," the stage manager warned.

Kurt shrugged as he made his way back to the dressing room. "But they love it when I do that," he said.

He pushed his way into the shared dressing room, dodging his fellow performers in various states of undress, and sat down at his station. Thankfully, the encore hadn't gone on too long, so two more solo slots, the finale, and then home.

Granted, home was his Navigator in the back of the Walmart parking lot, but eh, semantics.

He spritzed his hair with AquaNet and combed it carefully into place. The fluorescent lights above his makeup station highlighted the sallow pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes, but at least heavy makeup and the warm stage lighting could help with that.

He dabbed concealer under one eye and started to rub it into his skin with the pad of his index finger. "Hey, Price, someone's here to see you," one of the techs called. "Want me to kick him out?"

Kurt sighed. "Is he a creeper?" he called back.

"Nah, he's just bringing your shirt back up."

Kurt sat up, frowning. "Let him in, I guess," he said.

Usually when he tossed his shirt into the audience, it never came back. Probably became some creepy old man's souvenir. He tried not to think about it too much.

He leaned back in his seat, lifting his chin as he prepared himself for an overardent admirer. That happened a few times- an overzealous businessman with thinning hair and an expensive-but-wrinkled suit waxing poetic over his performance and offering to be his sugar daddy. He'd turned them all down. It wasn't worth it.

"Well, I'm surprised you didn't keep my shirt, handsome," Kurt said airily as his admirer approached. "Don't you want a souvenir?"

He paused. This wasn't a middle-aged fan, so deep in the closet he was finding Christmas presents, eager to set up him up in style in exchange for silence. Kurt frowned and threw his concealer down on the counter. "You're just a kid," he scoffed. "What are you doing here? Didn't they check your ID?"

"It was fake," the boy admitted. He looked around seventeen or eighteen, dark haired and hazel eyed, his tanned skin flushed with illicit booze and the promise of sex. The top button of his cardigan had popped loose and his gray slacks were wrinkled. His fingers clutched the white button-up shirt too tightly. "I just…my friends got me in here, as kind of a joke, but-"

"You think what I'm doing is a joke?" Kurt snapped. "I'm a performer. A good one, I might add."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," he said hurriedly. "I mean, you're fantastic. You really are. I just…I've never been to a…a…"

"A strip club," Kurt said flatly. He coughed lightly behind his hand. "Spit it out, baby."

The boy flushed red. "Look, I just wanted to give your shirt back," he said, tossing it down on the counter. "And to tell you…you're amazing." He took a deep breath. "Absolutely amazing."

"Thank you," Kurt said dryly, draping the shirt over the back of his chair. "You're so poetic, aren't you? You ought to be a songwriter." He tilted his head. "Now, can you leave? I have another performance to do."

The boy stuck his hand out. "My name's Blaine," he said. Kurt raised an eyebrow. Blaine extended his hand further. "Blaine Anderson."

"Padgett Price," Kurt said, squeezing his fingers gingerly. Blaine's hand was warm and strong, lightly callused on the palm. "Pleasure. Now can you go?"

"Sure," Blaine said. "It was…it was great to meet you, Padgett."

Kurt grimaced at the sound of his stage name and shooed Blaine away. Blaine smiled one last time, one side of his mouth quirking up more than the other, slid his hands in his pockets, and backed away.

"Five minutes to finale, gentlemen," the tech called as he passed through the dressing room. "Five minutes to finale."

Kurt grabbed up his concealer stick, trying to shake the memory of Blaine's warm grip from his mind. It wouldn't do to go onstage rattled. It wouldn't do it all.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****OH YAY STRIPPER!KURT.

I came across the most glorious gif set ever on Tumblr- it made it look like Kurt was pole dancing and Blaine was practically jizzing in his Dalton slacks over it. And I thought "oh! I could write a drabble!"

The drabble turned into a oneshot.

The oneshot turned into a three-parter.

And now it's a multichapter fic.

Oops. I'm sorry.

Nope. Wait. Not sorry.

I started posting in on Tumblr, just to see what the reaction was like, and people seemed to really like it! So here it is, in all its glory! It's nearly complete- just two chapters to go. So it should be finished in short order.

I know, I know. Famous last words. But still.

And once this is finished...I'm going to finish Goodnight!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

"Oh, god, you should have seen Blaine's face," Sebastian laughed. "His face was so red. He was so embarrassed. It was absolutely adorable."

"It wasn't adorable," Blaine snapped, shrugged Sebastian's arm off his shoulders as he stood up abruptly and crossed over to the table, pretending to dig something out of his bag.

"Oh, yes, it was," Sebastian grinned. "You got so flustered." He elbowed Thad lightly in the ribs. "The headliner threw his shirt right at Blaine. I thought Blaine was going to jizz in his pants right then and there."

"You do realize that you two could get expelled if Dalton administration found out you went to a strip club, right?" Thad said.

Sebastian shrugged. "We were back for room checks and we were sobered up by then," he said. "Besides, Mister Goody Two Shoes over there gave the shirt back. No one'll find out."

"Really?" Wes said, lifting an eyebrow in Blaine's direction.

Blaine rolled his shoulders and glanced out the window. "I don't know, I just didn't want to keep it," he said. "Didn't feel right."

"So you got to go backstage?" Jeff asked eagerly. "Dude, what was it like?"

"Average back of a theater," Blaine said. "Nothing special."

"But you got to meet the headliner," Sebastian pointed out. He leaned back against the glossy leather couch, crossing one leg over the other. "So tell us, love. Was the little beauty as smoking hot up close as he was onstage?"

Blaine fiddled with the pen he'd pretended to need from his bag. What was he supposed to tell them? That he was even more beautiful in person? That he was graceful and snippy all at once? That he seemed thin and pale and tired under all that bravura and makeup?

"He was pretty attractive, I guess," he said.

"What's his name?" Sebastian drawled.

Blaine took a deep breath. "Padgett Price," he announced, gesturing broadly. "Probably a fake name."

"You think?" David snickered.

"Hey, stupid name or not, the guy was hot," Sebastian said. "I'm going to head out again next weekend. Anyone else want to join me?"

A couple of the guys glanced around and shrugged. Blaine gripped the pen till his knuckles whitened. _No, you had plans, _he wanted to say. _With me. I thought we were going to give this monogamous thing a try._

"Blaine, you don't have to come," Sebastian said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know the club freaked you out."

Blaine tossed the pen at Sebastian, smirking when he didn't catch it. "Actually, I'd love to come," he said.

* * *

Kurt bounced on his toes in the wings, watching Beck finish his routine. He always hated waiting to go on- his palms sweating, his stomach churning, his skin heating. It didn't matter how many times he performed, he always got stage fright.

When he was little, performing in school plays and community theater, he used to cry from nerves. His mother would always stay backstage with him, drying his tears and calming him down, and she would swoop him into a hug as he ran backstage after his scenes and whisper _you're so talented, baby, you're going to be a star._

And when he was older, his father would come to all of his glee club performances, usually expressionless and gruff throughout, but he would clap and clap and clap, the sound so loud that he could hear his father's applause over everything else, and he would stand there on the risers and just smile till his face hurt.

"…and now, for the highlight of the evening, our headliner…"

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose. _It doesn't matter, _he told himself, and it really didn't. His parents weren't around, except in the pages of the one photo album he was able to salvage before the bank took the house.

And besides, they wouldn't love him anymore if they knew what he'd become.

He waited for his musical cue and sashayed onstage, parting the curtains to raucous applause and shrill wolf whistles. With a graceful strut he hit his first mark and posed, the movement and the expression all as familiar as walking and breathing.

With a catlike leap he swung onto the pole, grateful to the fingerless gloves he'd finally talked the stage manager into letting him use- he used to finish his shifts with red streaks across his palms, hot and stinging. All it took was that first swing, his legs tucked up and his arms tight, and the audience was shrieking. He grinned. It really wasn't any secret that he was the best poledancer at the club.

He jumped up for another swing, hooking his knee around the pole, but he caught sight of a familiar face in the audience and he had to grip tightly to keep from slipping. His breath choked in his throat.

The boy. From last weekend. Blair. Blake. Whatever his name was.

Kurt turned around, his heart pounding in his chest. He had plenty of regulars. He shouldn't get this freaked out. Not over a glossy-haired prep school boy with puppy dog eyes and impeccable clothes.

His throat ached. He swallowed hard and whipped around, his smile already in place as his fingers tangled in the top button of his shirt. The audience bellowed. He unfastened the buttons in a quick fell swoop and slid his arms leisurely out his sleeves, arcing his back to better display his pale chest and flat stomach.

Funny, before he started working at the club he was always self-conscious. Layering his clothes over undershirts, hiding in the bathroom to change after gym class, swimming in tee shirts rather than baring his chest. Strange how things could change.

Kurt glanced surreptitiously at the dark-haired boy. He was gazing at him, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and dazed. Fantastic. Just what he needed. A starry-eyed virgin making him out to be some kind of…sex god.

Well, he could use another regular. Regulars always tipped well. Maybe he could feed the fantasy.

He swung his shirt lazily over his head like a lariat and tossed into the audience- towards the boy. The brunet caught it with a start, blinking in surprise. The teenager next to him laughed, dragging his fingers through the other boy's dark curls in a condescending gesture. Kurt offered a wink, and a red flush crept up the boy's neck.

He grabbed onto the pole and thrust up against it, sliding his pelvis up. His mouth rounded and his eyes fluttered shut, and the audience roared. They always did, they loved the naughty cherub act.

He shimmied up, legs wrapping tightly around the pole as he leaned back, his muscles burning as he railed his hands against the floor. Idly he wondered if the boy was watching. He sort of hoped he was.

Goosebumps popped on his skin as he slid down the pole and swung around it. The stage lights and the exertion ought to keep him warm, but he was always cold nowadays. He pulled himself up in a lazy swing, glancing over his shoulder to spot his new admirer. The boy looked starstruck, eyes wide and glazed over. Perfect. Time to seal the deal.

With a quick strut he crossed to his mark on the thrust of the stage, now surrounded by the audience on all sides. He bit his lip and dropped his hand to the zipper of his pants.

"Take it off, slut!" someone hollered.

Kurt blinked, eyes wide and dewy, and rolled his hips in a slow circle as he ever-so-carefully pulled down the zipper. He scanned the audience to catch the gaze of the brown-eyed boy and offered him a wink.

"Take it off!" the heckler repeated, and the other onlookers took up the cry. Kurt dropped to his knees at the edge of the stage and beckoned to an older man sitting close to the front. The man stumbled over to him, nearly tripping over a chair, and Kurt leaned back, tilting his head towards the ceiling as the man unfastened his belt with shaking fingers. He tried to ignore the way the stranger's hand trailed over his crotch.

Kurt slid the belt off and tossed it to the floor as he stood up, rocking up with a pop as his pants slid down around his hips. In two steps he'd discarded them on the floor, already striding back to his pole dressed only in his tight glossy white spankies.

He always saved the biggest moves for the end of his act, when he was practically naked and he could show off the most. And showing off more meant more money thrown onstage, and more money meant…well, maybe he could think about it later, when he wasn't mostly naked on a brass pole.

He threw himself into the motions, twisting and curving and gyrating. The music drowned out everything else, and he was grateful for that. But at the same time, he made sure to throw in a new move or two- something a little more adventurous, in case the boy was watching him.

He wrapped up his act with a last swing around the pole, the shouts of the audience blurring in his ears. With a last bow he made his way off the stage while the emcee introduced the next performer. Kurt caught his breath in the wings, leaning on a support beam. No one asked if he was okay.

He squared his shoulders and walked backstage to his assigned spot, sinking heavily into his chair. His whole body throbbed and he tried to crack his neck. Maybe he just needed a little more sleep. That was it.

He carefully reapplied his makeup, slicking another layer of concealer under his eyes and swiping more gloss over his lips, turning his mouth pink and rosy. His throat tightened and he turned his head to cough into the crook of his elbow. With a sigh he rubbed at the smeared makeup on his mouth and reapplied the lip gloss.

"Five minutes to finale, gentlemen, five minutes to finale," the stage manager announced, brushing past the roomful of mostly-naked men without batting an eye.

Kurt pushed himself up and grabbed his props for the finale. He definitely needed more sleep. Maybe a cup of hot tea for the tickle in the back of his throat. At least the finale was easy. He could do it in his sleep.

He slid his arms in the straps of his motheaten white feather wings and dropped the tarnished gold halo on his head. The angel gimmick had been chosen for him by the managers. He was so innocent, they kept gushing. Such a baby face for a twenty-one-year-old. Let's play that up. The virgin-whore dichotomy. Dressed like an angel, dancing like a devil.

He was so sick of it.

The other performers nearly crowded him out of the wings; he ducked to get back into his spot, adjusting his halo on his head. He moved on autopilot, his body present and his mind thoroughly checked out. To the audience he was sexy and engaging- they didn't have to know that he was already planning his escape route and deciding whether or not he was going to eat dinner.

He stepped closer to the forefront and scanned the audience. The brown-eyed boy was gone. For some reason…he felt disappointed.

It didn't matter, though. He had plenty of regulars. He didn't need that one.

At the show's end he slipped backstage, avoiding the raucous calls for attention. Sometimes he stuck around- lap dances paid an awful lot extra, after all- but he just didn't feel like it. Not tonight.

He paused by his station long enough to scrub the makeup off his face with a facial cloth, brush most of the glitter from his hair, and change out of his meager costume and into his street clothes. Music pulsed from the stage above, but he shrugged into his coat- the only one he'd saved, it was the warmest but he'd grown so much that the sleeves barely touched his wrists and the fabric strained across his back- and headed out into the cold.

No one would ever guess that the skinny, shaggy-haired kid in the outgrown jacket had been a young sex god just ten minutes earlier.

* * *

Blaine rose up on his toes, hands thrust deep in his pockets. His breath puffed into the night air like a soft white aura. His stomach tumbled in nervous excitement.

The backstage door to the club opened and his heart skipped a beat. A slim figure in a blue coat slipped outside and headed down the stairs, head bowed, a plaid backpack weighing down his shoulders.

"Hey," Blaine called. The figure turned sharply and Blaine bit his lip. "Sorry, that was loud."

The dancer made his way down the stairs, arms folded across his chest. "I'm off duty," he said, sounding tired and cranky. "You can come back tomorrow, okay?"

"No, I just…it's Padgett, right?" Blaine asked, edging a little closer. The boy blinked. "Your name's Padgett?"

The boy paused, then walked towards him with a heavy sigh. "Yes, that's me," he drawled. "You want an autograph or what, kid?"

Blaine bristled. "You don't have to patronize me," he said. "I'm seventeen, I'm not that much younger than you."

"Still too young to go to a strip club," Padgett snorted, hooking his thumbs in the straps of his backpack. Light from the seedy streetlamps overhead shafted across his face, highlighting his pale eyes, the slope of his nose, the soft pout of his lips. His cheeks seemed hollow. "Are you trying to ask me out on a date? It's sweet, but I don't date clients. Can't mix work and pleasure."

"You don't need to be so snippy," Blaine said. He held out the shirt he'd caught during the show. "I couldn't help but notice you threw this at me again. I thought you'd like it back."

Padgett took it reluctantly. "Thanks," he said.

Blaine stamped his feet against the cold. "Look, I'm not asking you out on a date," he said "But there's a coffee shop close by. It's kind of crappy coffee, but it's warm, and…can I buy you a drink?"

There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Padgett threw his head back and laughed.

Blaine frowned and shifted his weight. "Oh, god, you're so cute," Padgett snorted. He shouldered his backpack and patted Blaine on the shoulder. "Thank you for inviting me out for coffee, honey, but you should stick to someone like you."

"And what am I, exactly?" Blaine asked tersely.

Padgett smiled without showing his teeth. "A kid," he said. He tugged a stocking cap out of his pocket and pulled it over his head. His hair curled around his ears, suddenly making him look even younger. "You're welcome to come to any of my shows, though. Maybe I'll even oblige you with a private performance at some point." He tweaked Blaine's nose. "See you later."

He loped off into the darkness, his backpacking bouncing on his shoulders. Blaine clenched his fists in his pockets, his jaw tightening.

Raucous, careless laughter spilled from behind him; he glanced back to see Sebastian stumbling out of the club, his arm slung carelessly around Jeff's shoulders. "Blaine," he whined, drawing his name out. "Blaine, where'd you go?"

He turned around. "Just…went for a walk," he said. "It's too hot in there. I needed to clear my head."

Sebastian slid his arms around Blaine's neck, drawing him flush to his chest. "It's too cold," he said petulantly. He kissed a wet, sloppy path up Blaine's throat and nibbled at his lips. "Come back inside, c'mon, please, I'm freezing…'

Blaine ducked from the kiss and nudged him aside. "Not now," he said irritably, wishing he hadn't bothered to come.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****UGH BLAINE WHY ARE YOU WITH SEBASTIAN?

Actually, I'm the author and I know why. Blaine's with Sebastian because he's lonely and he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone else, so he's settling for Sebastian, even though he knows Sebastian doesn't do the long-term relationship thing.

Also, Kurt is the saddest child ever. And if you're a wee bit confused- Kurt is really still a month or two shy of his seventeenth birthday. He lied in order to get the job, and even though he clearly doesn't look the right age, they hired him anyway. Poor sweet baby. You'll get to see more of how sad he is in the next chapter.

Also, now you know why I never write sexy things. TIME TO GO WRITE SOME FLUFF. I CAN HANDLE FLUFF.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

The bell rang and Kurt forced himself out of his desk with a groggy start. He'd fallen asleep again. He couldn't help it- he had to stay up so late at night- but at least his teachers had left him alone in class since his father died. Besides, he was passing all of his classes, so no one seemed concerned about it.

He shouldered his satchel and headed down the hallway towards his locker, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. Third period…what came after third period? Algebra. Oh, good, another opportunity for a nap.

"Kurt? Kurt!"

He glanced back to see Rachel Berry storming down the hall towards him. "I'm busy, Rachel, I can't get you primped up for your date night with Finn," he said.

"No, no, it's not about Finn," she said, running up to his side and latching onto his arm. He stiffened under the touch. "Regionals are in a few weeks!"

"And I should be excited why?" he asked dryly. "Oh, god, you don't want me to plan your outfits, do you?"

"No, it isn't. Honestly, Kurt, can't you let me get a word in edgewise?" she said, exasperated. She linked her arm through his, a memory of older times. "Regionals are in a few weeks, and we want you to come."

He pried his arm away. "I'm not rejoining glee," he said quietly. "I told you. I don't have time."

"I don't understand why you keep telling us you don't have time," she snapped. "Doesn't your aunt ever let you out of the house?"

"She lets me out enough," Kurt lied. "She's nice enough to let me live with her until I graduate. I think it's only fair if I help out around the house, run errands. You know."

"No, I don't," Rachel frowned.

_Of course you don't, _Kurt thought. _If you knew anything, you'd know my aunt lives in Illinois._

Aloud, all he did was sigh. "I've got a lot on my plate right now," he said. "What do you want, Rachel?"

"We've discussed it, and I've been elected to invite you to regionals," Rachel said. "We've missed you since you dropped out. No one gets to see you anymore. We can barely even get you to text us back."

"I've been busy," he said in a low voice.

Rachel dug a flyer out of her backpack and pressed it into his hands. "It's at the Civic Center," she said. "We'll save a seat for you." She patted his arm. "Have you been doing okay? I've heard you haven't kept up with your counseling appointments with Miss Pillsbury and I-"

"Nice talking to you, Rachel," he said, gritting his teeth. He turned sharply towards his next class, threw his backpack on the floor, and slammed into his seat as the bell rang. The back of his neck burned; he knew that Rachel was watching him, probably with doe-eyed concern, but he refused to turn around and give her the satisfaction.

* * *

Sebastian laughed, the sound loose and uncontrolled. "Blaine, I'd'a never guessed you'd turn into a, a…a stripper junkie," he slurred.

Blaine raised his customary rum and coke. "I'm full of surprises," he said, loud over the sound of the pulsing club music.

Sebastian trailed his hand clumsily down the side of Blaine's cheek. "You know, I never got you a birthday present," he said. "Wanna present? Now?"

"Sure," Blaine said, straightening up. "What'd you get me?"

Sebastian snapped for a waitress; the scantily-dressed girl leaned over so he could whisper in her ear. "You'll see," Sebastian said, sitting up with a satisfied smile. "You'll see. You'll love it."

"C'mon, Sebastian, just tell me," Blaine complained.

Sebastian waved his hand dismissively. "You'll see, you'll see…" he said.

Blaine leaned back in his seat, dipping his straw in and out of his rum and coke, until he saw a figure strut towards him, features obscured in the club's dim lighting. "Well, I understand someone paid for a lap dance," a familiar voice purred.

Blaine started. "Him, him, him," Sebastian crowed, flapping his hand in Blaine's direction. He smirked, sliding in close to Blaine. "It's a good present, right?"

The stripper leaned in closer, the spotlights catching his face in shadows. His eyes danced wickedly. "Better come over here so I can get to you better, handsome," he said.

Padgett held out a hand and Blaine took it numbly, allowing himself to be tugged out of the booth and towards one of the little private rooms on the side. "Hi," he blurted out, staring blankly at Padgett's pale glitter-highlighted face, the alcohol in his blood washing away his normal coherence. "Hi, uh…"

Padgett laughed, sliding a hand down Blaine's chest. He kicked the door shut behind them. "Cat got your tongue?" he inquired with a coquettish tilt of his head. With a gentle push he tapped Blaine back until he sat down abruptly on the plush bench

Blaine swallowed hard. The young dancer was stripped down to a pair of tight royal blue satin booty shorts and a slim gold belly chain. His mouth went dry. "I've, uh…"

"Never had a lapdance before?" Padgett asked airily. He slung one leg across Blaine's lap, the muscles of his thigh rippling under the skin. "Don't worry, baby, this won't hurt a bit."

"I'm not scared about it hurting," Blaine breathed. The stripper's legs were touching his thighs, squeezing lightly, the contact burning and electric.

Padgett leaned on the armrests, his hips rolling in tantalizingly slow circles, hovering just above Blaine's thighs. Blaine made a soft choking sound in the back of his throat. "Like that?" the stripper said softly. "How's that to start?"

"That's…that's good," Blaine stammered.

Padgett trailed his hand down Blaine's chest, his fingers hooking briefly around the top button of his shirt. "What else would you like?" he drawled, his hips undulating softly.

"Anything…anything at all…you can do whatever you want," Blaine said, his voice tightening, spiraling higher.

He watched the stripper in a haze, his mouth slightly agape. "Remember…you can't touch," Padgett murmured, his slender fingers tangled in Blaine's collar. "Just watch, mm?"

Blaine nodded wordlessly. His cheeks felt hot. Padgett sank onto his thighs, a light warm pressure. He shifted a little bit, resisting the urge to grab onto Padgett's hips. His skin looked so unbearably soft and silky.

Padgett hummed along faintly to the music seeping in from the club. His voice was sweet and high, and Blaine suddenly wished he could hear him sing, actually sing. _It'd be beautiful…_

Suddenly Padgett dropped down to his lap and leaned back, hands gripping tight to Blaine's belt. Blaine sucked in his breath through his teeth, his hands moving of their own wavery accord to reach for him, but at the last second he pulled back, digging his fingers into the worn plush of the seat beneath him.

Padgett laughed, low and breathy, and pulled himself back up slowly, his back bending in a graceful arc. "I love first-timers," he said breathlessly.

Blaine bit back a low groan. "Glad I can please you," he said, closing his eyes tightly.

"Ah-ah-ah, you're not supposed to please me, I'm supposed to please you," Padgett said. Blaine felt a gentle touch against his neck. He opened his eyes slowly to see Padgett looking down at him, his impossible eyes silver in the faint light. "You can touch me if you'd like."

Blaine didn't need a second invitation. He latched onto Padgett's thighs, his fingers sinking into his deliciously soft skin and gripping the tight hot muscle. Without meaning to he groaned, leaning his head back against the plush bench. Padgett laughed again, wicked and sweet, and suddenly not even touching was enough, he wanted to kiss him, sink his lips against his and just dissolve.

The song ended and Padgett smiled, tilting his head to the side. "Time's up," he said. "Your boyfriend only paid for one song."

"He's not my-" Blaine started to say, but Padgett began to slide off his lap, and Blaine latched his arms around his waist. "Wait. Please."

"You want another lap dance, you have to pay," Padgett said, his mouth drawing down.

"No, please," Blaine pleaded. "I want to take you out for coffee. I really do. Please?"

Padgett folded his arms across his chest, covering his pink nipples. Blaine swallowed hard, his jaw working. He could see glitter in the dancer's sky-high hair. "Why should I?" Padgett asked warily.

"Because I like you," Blaine blurted out. "I like you, and…I want to get to know you. Please, just…I get out of school at three o'clock, I can meet you for coffee tomorrow at a quarter after."

The dancer bit his lip. It was a childish, unconscious gesture, and Blaine tried to stifle the sudden urge to wrap him up in a blanket and kiss his forehead. "Are you paying?" he asked, and his face fell back in those superior arched lines again.

"Yes," Blaine said. "I'll pay. Whatever you want." He squeezed Padgett's thighs. "I'll even get you a cookie if you want."

Padgett's eyes narrowed. The hazy warmth of the overhead lights touched his hair with gold. "Three-fifteen?" he said.

"At the Lima Bean," Blaine said. "Do you know where it is?"

"Sure, I suppose," Padgett said. He drummed his finger against his upper arms. "What about your boyfriend?"

"We're not really dating," Blaine said. It was the first time he'd admitted it aloud, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "We just have a kind of…understanding."

"Friends with benefits?"

Blaine said nothing.

Padgett licked his lips, smearing his berry-colored lip gloss. "Interesting," he said. He wrapped Blaine's tie around his hand and gave it a tug. "Mind letting go of me now?"

"Oh," Blaine said stupidly. He let go and Padgett slid off his knees. "Oh. Sorry."

"So three-fifteen at the Lima Bean, yes?" the dancer said. He took Blaine by the hand and led him to the door.

Blaine tripped over his own shoe. Padgett's hand was soft and warm in his grip, his fingers frail and bird-boned. "Yes," he said. "Tomorrow."

Padgett pulled him back into the booming pulse of the darkened club. "Tomorrow, then," he said. He ran his hand down Blaine's spine and gave him a firm swat on the ass. "See you, loverboy."

Blaine choked. Padgett sashayed away, his hand on his hip and his gold belly chain swinging against his navel. He stared until the slender dancer disappeared into the thick of the crowd. When he vanished, Blaine shook his head and stumbled back to his friends like a man asleep.

"Have a good time?" Sebastian said. He pulled Blaine down to sit on his knee and wrapped his arms around his waist. "Wasn't it the best birthday present ever?"

Blaine pulled away from Sebastian's clinging arms and bony thigh. "Yeah, it was fantastic," he said. He sat down in his chair and took a long pull from his rum and coke. Across the club he could see Padgett leaning his elbows on a table to talk to an older patron. His perfect round ass stuck up in the air; he rubbed his shin against the back of his leg.

"Absolutely fantastic," Blaine murmured.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****I'M NOT VERY GOOD AT WRITING SEXY THINGS AHHH WHY DID I DECIDE TO WRITE THIS CAN'T I JUST SKIP AHEAD TO THE HURT/COMFORT?!

But yeah. Poor Kurt. And also poor Blaine, who nearly jizzed in his pants in this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Kurt slid his hands deeper in his coat pockets and shivered. His winter gloves had been originally chosen for their looks, not their warmth, and he was pretty sure he had lost feeling in his fingertips. It was three-thirteen, and if Blaine wasn't there soon, he was going to just go in and get warm for a while before he had to leave. He had enough in his pocket for a tall plain coffee- he'd learned quickly that coffee shops and cafes didn't look kindly on teenage transients who took up valuable seats without paying for anything.

"Hey!"

He jumped, pressing his back against the wall, but it was only the prep school boy. Blaine jogged across the parking lot towards him, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Hi," Kurt stammered, trying to play it off, but his heart was racing too fast to make it look convincing.

"You came," Blaine said, clearly pleased. Kurt eyed his winter coat longingly- it was thick and soft and lined in a heavy quilted satin. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Yes, well, I didn't have anything else to do," Kurt shrugged.

That was a lie. Sort of. He should have stayed for seventh period, but no one said anything when he skipped anymore. Usually when he skipped class, he hid in the dusty old costume storage in the rafters of the auditorium, dozing in a nest of ancient coats and outdated prom dresses until the bell rang. But the promise of free coffee had lured him away from the temptation of a nap.

"Should…should we go in?" Blaine said, still grinning. "It's…sort of cold out here."

Kurt shrugged. He moved to push the door open, but Blaine got to it before he did and ushered him inside. Kurt blinked. That didn't happen to him.

"Thank you," he finally remembered to say as they got in line, but Blaine was already happily eyeing the menu board.

"Have you been here before?" Blaine asked. "I come here a lot after school. They've got some great specials."

_Yes, I have, _Kurt wanted to say. _I was sick with food poisoning from eating gas station food and I had to hide in their bathroom to puke and they kicked me out because I couldn't afford to buy anything._

But he couldn't say something like that to this sheltered little boy, and besides, he didn't like to think about it. He still had nightmares about it- crouching in a back alley, vomiting over his shoes, sobbing into his hands because he was sick and terrified and absolutely alone.

He got the job at the strip club the next day. And he hadn't cried since.

"…Padgett?"

Kurt blinked. "Hm?" he said.

Blaine gave him a curious look. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I kept saying your name…you weren't answering."

"Sorry," Kurt said, forcing himself to smile. "Just…zoned out a little bit there."

Blaine smiled and nudged his shoulder lightly. "Well, it's our turn to order," he said. "Pick whatever you want. It's on me."

Kurt took a deep breath and stepped up to the counter. _This is why you agreed to this date, Hummel, _he reminded himself. _Take the free coffee, stay with him long enough that you don't feel guilty about mooching off him, and get out of here._

"Hi, I'd like a venti nonfat mocha, no whip, flipped, and one of those chocolate chip scones, please," he told the cashier.

He glanced at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. The high schooler seemed unfazed, just smiling warmly. Kurt's stomach ached. Of course it didn't bother Blaine. Blaine probably got an allowance from his parents. He probably bought himself coffee a couple of times a week. This wasn't anything to him.

"I'd like a medium drip, and um…one of those sugar cookies, please," Blaine said, smiling at the cashier. He pulled his wallet out. "We're together, by the way."

"Congrats," the cashier said dryly as she punched their order into the register.

Blaine's cheeks turned a vibrant red. "Oh, no, we're not…not _together _together, we're just…um…" His voice trailed off and he hastily handed over a twenty. "Just, um…you can keep the change."

"No need to impress me, loverboy," Kurt said, sounding a little more snippy than he intended. "We're just getting coffee, not reenacting Pretty Woman."

"Sorry, I just…I've never gone out with…you know, an older man," Blaine said, looking down at the toes of his shoes. Kurt blinked. Oh. Of course. Blaine thought he was older. About four or five years older.

Blaine shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply this was a date," he said. "I mean…I just…oh, geez." He looked at Kurt, smiling sheepishly. "I'm really awful at this."

"Well, you could be worse," Kurt shrugged. The barista handed their drinks over; Kurt grabbed the scone a little more eagerly than he intended. He couldn't help it- he was hungry. "And I guess this could be a date if you wanted it to be."

"Isn't it supposed to be…you know, mutual?" Blaine said, puzzled.

"It's whatever you want it to be," Kurt repeated. He sipped his coffee, his shoulders sagging a little in happiness at the thick, sweet warmth. Fancy coffee was out of his budget- he usually stuck with hot tea, it was cheaper. But oh, how he'd missed coffee like this.

He was so caught up in his reverie that he nearly walked into another patron. Blaine touched the small of his back lightly, gently steering him out of the way. "I usually sit over there," he said, guiding Kurt towards a quiet table in the back.

Kurt sat down and shrugged out of his coat, draping it carefully over the back of his chair. "You really do come here a lot," he commented. "You have a usual table and everything."

"My friends and I come here a lot after rehearsal," Blaine said, the tip of his tongue poking from his lips as he tugged the lid off his coffee cup. He frowned in concentration.

"Rehearsal for what?" Kurt asked.

Blaine ripped open a sugar packet. "Glee club," he said. "I'm in an all-male a capella chorus. We're pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"Ah, so you're a singer," Kurt said. He broke off a corner of his scone and popped it in his mouth. "I sing too, you know."

He bit his lip. He hadn't meant to share that.

"Really?" Blaine said, looking up from his coffee.

"Mm-hm," Kurt said. "So-"

"Do you sing at the club?" Blaine asked.

"Sometimes," Kurt said evasively. "So do you-"

"Did you sing in high school?"

It took a second for the question to process. Oh. Of course Blaine assumed he was out of high school. "Oh, not really, you know…" he hedged. He cleared his throat. "But you're in an all-male chorus, hm? I bet you enjoy that."

"It has its perks," Blaine said, the back of his neck slowly turning red. He grabbed the shaker of ground cinnamon and shook out a liberal amount. "So…you didn't really sing in high school. Did you sing in college?"

"No, not really into the college thing," Kurt said. "I bet you're headed off to the Ivy Leagues, though." He rested his chin on his folded hands. "So what about it? Harvard? NYU? Yale?"

Blaine shrugged. "I'm not sure yet," he said. He stuck a stirrer in his coffee and swirled it around. "I'm a junior. I've got some time to put things together, right?" He stuck the stirrer in his mouth and sucked it clean, clearly an unconscious gesture from long habit, and Kurt shifted in his seat. "So are you from around here, or-"

"Look, Blaine," Kurt interrupted. The dark-haired boy looked up and blinked. "Before this gets any further…why did you ask me out? I mean…is there a purpose to asking a random, older exotic dancer out on a date, or did you just feel a little capricious?"

Blaine shifted uncomfortably, tapping his fingers softly on the lid of his coffee cup. "I don't know, actually," he said. "I just…wanted to."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "You just felt like asking a stranger out on a coffee date?" he repeated. "Honey, I don't know if this your teenage rebellion or you're just looking for love in all the wrong places, but you might want to rethink your choices."

Blaine lifted his coffee cup to his lips and looked at Kurt slyly from under his lashes. "My choices are fine, thank you," he said. "And I think you're quite attractive, you know. Can't I ask an attractive man out on a date?"

"I'm not…I'm not dating material, Blaine," Kurt said. His finger crumbled the corner of his scone. "I'm a stripper. I'm…older than you. I'm-"

"A person," Blaine said. "A person that I just happened to be interested in getting to know." He put his coffee cup down with a smile. "We can get to know each other, right?"

Kurt pressed his lips together and just looked at him. "Whatever you like," he said, sipping the coffee that Blaine bought him.

"So where are you from?" Blaine asked. "Originally, I mean. Are you from Ohio?"

Kurt struggled to think back to the fabricated backstory he'd given the club manager when he first got the job. "Kentucky, actually," he lied. "I came up here for college, originally."

"And where was college?" Blaine inquired.

"OSU."

"Oh, a Buckeye," Blaine smiled.

"I don't really go in for sports," Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

That led into a spirited discussion over football, and whether cheerleading counted as a sport, and bantering about past performances, which led to Blaine telling a story about his first voice recital when he was eight years old, and Kurt countered that with his first piano recital, and then they were discussing music and the arts, and then movies they liked and didn't like, and TV shows, and that led to Blaine mentioning his brother's burgeoning career as an actor.

"So your brother's how much older?" Kurt said, brushing crumbs from his palms.

"Seven years," Blaine said. "Cooper…we're not really much alike, or very close, but we get along pretty well." He swirled the dregs of his coffee and peered into the cup. "Do you have any siblings? Any family members in town?"

"No, actually," Kurt shrugged. "I'm an only child, and my father died recently, so-"

He froze. No. He didn't talk about it. He couldn't talk about it. Especially now. Not while he was mooching coffee off a starry-eyed high school kid.

"…Padgett?"

Kurt jumped. "Sorry," he stammered. "Sorry, I…I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Blaine said. He reached across the table and touched his fingertips to the back of Kurt's hand. "I'm so sorry about your dad."

Kurt's fingers stiffened under Blaine's warm hand. No one had held his hand in ages. "Thank you," he said. "It's…it's been a little rough."

_Stop it, _he told himself. _Don't talk about it. You can't talk about it. No one cares._

Blaine's fingers wrapped slowly around his palm and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Were you close?" he asked.

"We were," Kurt whispered. His fingers began to tighten of their own accord, winding through Blaine's, but he shook his head and pulled away, already smiling. "So. You never did finish telling me the story about your dog."

That was enough to pull Blaine away from talking about family, and they sat in their quiet corner of the coffee shop deep in conversation. So deep, in fact, that it was a shock when the streetlights outside began to turn on.

"Oh, god, it's almost seven," Blaine said. "I've missed rehearsal. They're going to kill me."

Kurt gathered up his coat quickly. "Mm-hm, I've got…places to be too," he said. They gathered up their empty cups and napkins and cleared the table in companionable silence. Kurt dropped his trash in the can and brushed his hands off. "This was nice."

"It was," Blaine said. "I think this is one of the best conversations I've had in a while."

They paused and just looked each other for a moment, blue eyes locking onto hazel. Kurt shifted under the weight of Blaine's warm, gentle smile. Blaine took a hesitant step forward. "Could…could I kiss you?" he asked hesitantly.

Kurt's heart stopped. He'd never been kissed. Not really. Not when he was Kurt Hummel, instead of Padgett Price.

Blaine's face fell. "You don't have to look at me like that," he said. "I was just…just wondering. If I could."

Kurt shivered. "No, it's…Blaine, are you sure you want to kiss me?" he said. "You don't-"

"I'd really like to kiss you if I could," Blaine whispered.

He seemed so young and eager, all puppy-dog eyes and youthful hope, and without realizing it, Kurt took a step towards him. Blaine's eyes lit up. He reached over to take Kurt by the hand, tugging him a little closer. The toes of Kurt's shoes slid a little on the floor and he held on tight to keep his balance. He closed his eyes, waiting.

Blaine's lips were warm and soft. He closed his mouth against Kurt's in a sweet, chaste kiss, capturing his lips as he squeezed his hand. Kurt took a shuddery breath, breathing in the close warm scent of him- coffee, cinnamon, cologne.

Blaine drew back, their lips parting. Kurt opened his eyes slowly. "Wow," Blaine breathed. "You, uh…you smell really good."

Kurt laughed without thinking and clapped his hand over his mouth. He could feel the hot blush on his cheeks. Blaine smiled widely at him, too giddy to speak. Kurt faltered. He couldn't do this. He couldn't be so stupid. This could ruin everything.

He could ruin Blaine.

"I…I have to go," he said, pulling his coat across his chest and turning away. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Wait!" Blaine said. "Wait, Padgett…"

He flinched at the sound of his stage name. Of course. Blaine didn't care about him. Blaine cared about Padgett Price.

"Could I…could I see you again?"

Kurt paused, staring down at the floor. "I work every night but Thursday and Sunday at the club," he said mechanically. "You can come see me then, if you really want."

"Okay," Blaine said. "I'll be there whenever I can. I want to see you again."

Kurt shook his head a little and walked away without looking back or saying goodbye. A bleak mid February snow filtered over his head, trickling down the back of his bare neck and down the collar of his coat. He cupped his hands around his mouth and coughed, trying to stifle the shivers in his body that weren't just from the cold.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

BRB SCREAMING BECAUSE THEY KISSED.

AND ALSO BECAUSE IT'S SAD.

Kurt is the saddest child in the world. BLAINE, DON'T BELIEVE HIM. HE'S NOT A SUAVE, WORLDLY TWENTY-ONE-YEAR-OLD. HE'S A LONELY, HEARTBROKEN LITTLE SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD WHO LOST EVERYTHING. HE LIVES IN HIS CAR, BLAINE. _HE LIVES IN HIS CAR. _WHY WON'T YOU RESCUE HIM?!

It's odd that I'm getting so worked up over this. I'm writing it, for heaven's sake. I could end it right now. I could bring Burt and Mollie back to life and have them take Kurt home and fuss over him and Blaine will find out the truth and love him and they'll grow up and get married and have babies and be the happiest little husbands in the world.

But I'm writing this, and I eat Angsty-Os for breakfast, and so I'm going to make this as sad and convoluted as possible.

But do you know what that means?

ALL THE HURT/COMFORT, THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

"Hey, honey, what'll it be? Your usual?"

Blaine smiled up at the waitress. "Yes, please," he said. "Thanks, Sunny."

"No problem," she said, patting his shoulder. Blaine settled back in his seat and grinned in satisfaction. Sure, his wallet was taking a bit of a hit from his frequent trips to the club, but it didn't matter. He got to see Padgett- it was worth it.

The emcee announced the next act, but Blaine just covered a yawn with the back of his hand and waited patiently. The problem with being in love with the headliner was that he always had to wait till the end of the night to see him perform.

_You're not in love, _he told himself. _You're infatuated. You're intoxicated. You're not in love._

His phone vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans; he wrestled it out to check the message.

**From Sebastian**

**9:42pm**

_Hey babe where r u? feelin frisky ;)_

Blaine smirked. Finally, he had the upper hand on Sebastian.

**From Blaine**

**9:43pm**

_Sorry hon. Not on campus._

He set the phone aside, but it buzzed again, sliding across the table.

**From Sebastian**

**9:45pm**

_U suck _

Blaine grinned and set his phone to silent. He didn't need to bother with Sebastian. He didn't even want to think about Sebastian. Not tonight.

Not ever, actually.

The waitress brought him his rum and coke and he sat back, sipping the drink slowly. He wasn't much of a drinker, really, but there was something deliciously salacious about drinking the illegal alcohol in a strip club booth, reveling in the knowledge that he was definitely breaking at least half a dozen school rules.

Of course, he'd most likely be expelled or at least suspended if the headmaster found out, but everyone knew the school board usually turned a blind eye to the antics of their privileged rich-kid students, unless the news spread too far. As long as he stayed under the radar he'd be fine.

The warmth from his drink spread slowly through his body; he wriggled his fingers with a pleased smile and watched the dancer onstage. Wednesday was always his favorite night- burlesque night. He knew it was Padgett's favorite too. The slender dancer always seemed alight when he was performing, but especially when he was doing a burlesque bit. He had a different role every night, different costumes and different characters, but he was always incredible.

He sat through the next few performances, clapping politely and sipping on his drink, waiting for Padgett's performance. The others were good, for the most part, but nothing compared to Padgett.

His phone buzzed half a dozen more times. He checked the screen surreptitiously- each and every one was from Sebastian. It gave him a slight sense of satisfaction to ignore them. Let Sebastian know what it's like to be ignored for once.

"And now it's time for everyone's favorite naughty schoolboy, Padgett Price!"

Blaine sat up, nearly upending what was left of his drink. His stomach flipflopped in excitement.

A stagehand brought on a small desk and chair. Blaine fidgeted anxiously, holding his breath without realizing it. The curtains parted and Padgett strutted out to center stage. Blaine wrapped his fingers tightly around his glass, trying not splutter. Padgett was dressed in a private school uniform- navy blazer, striped tie, khaki shorts, white knee socks. Between the outfit and the way his soft brown hair was combed over his forehead, the dancer didn't look twenty-one- he looked about fifteen.

The music pulsed from the speakers, bouncy and driving. Padgett winked at his audience and sat down at the desk, opening up a book. He turned a few pages and pouted, his cherry red lips soft and plump, then tossed it over his shoulder. With an easy jump he knelt on the desk and unbuttoned the blazer, swinging it lazily overhead and tossing it offstage.

The white button-up shirt under the blazer was just the tiniest bit too big, making him look like a child playing in his older brother's clothes. Padgett tugged and pulled on it, running his hands over his chest. He tangled his hands in the hem, rolling it up to expose several inches of his smooth flat belly. Blaine swallowed hard. He just looked so _innocent._

But he didn't look so innocent a second later when he started to unfasten his shirt. It was more complicated than that- he wasn't just unbuttoning, he was making it into a dance, almost, quick and graceful and sassy. Blaine's heartbeat sped up, rattling against his ribs. Padgett's mouth rounded into a sweet surprised O, as if he was shocked by his own naughtiness. Blaine leaned back into his seat. The zipper of his jeans was beginning to strain.

Padgett slunk out of his button-up and tossed it aside, leaving him in a thin white undershirt. The tie still hung around his neck. He rounded his hips slowly as he held onto the back of the chair, arching his back and sticking his ass out like he was just waiting to be spanked. His shorts slipped a little further down his hips, revealing the band of his underwear. Blaine shifted around in his seat, his hands unconsciously gripping the edge of the table.

Padgett pranced around on the stage, perching on the desk and dancing around the chair. He toed off his brown leather loafers one at a time, kicking his feet up in graceful angles, but when he reached for the hems of his knee socks, he paused and shook his head, covering his mouth with his hand in a coquettish gesture. The audience moaned in disappointment.

Blaine watched in stunned eagerness, half wanting him to strip completely and half wanting him to prolong the performance as long as possible. He watched Padgett wind his tie around his slender fingers and pull it loose; he scratched the back of his neck, intensely grateful that it was too dark in the club for anyone to see his ears turning red.

Padgett wriggled out of his undershirt, pulling it over his head and mussing up his hair. He laughed, his cheeks pinking, and flung it backwards. Blaine's heart raced, his breath catching in his throat. The tie swung over Padgett's pale chest like a striped pendulum. Then he reached for the button on his khaki shorts, sliding his hands over the fly.

The audience shrieked their approval. Padgett's fingers closed around the button; he plucked ineffectually at the closure, pouting fiercely like a petulant child until it finally popped free. He beamed at the audience in pleased pride and shimmied out of the khaki shorts, stripping down to a pair of very tight navy striped briefs and kicking the shorts out of the way.

The performance was winding to a close, and the audience whooped and hollered as Padgett strutted around in his well-rehearsed dance. At the last second he whipped off the tie and flung it to the audience, then struck his final pose and stuck his thumbs in the band of his underwear, curving his fingers in the cuts of his hips. The audience clapped loudly. Blaine's hands were nearly numb from applauding. Padgett blew a kiss towards him and sashayed backstage.

Blaine didn't even bother to stay for the finale- he'd seen it enough times by now. He grabbed his things and ran out to the back door. It was cold, but he wouldn't have to wait very long.

Padgett was the third person out of the door. It was hard to see in the dim streetlights, but he could tell it was him- thin, shoulders slumped, head down. He was dressed in the same coat he always wore, a knit cap pulled over his head and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Padgett!" Blaine said, his voice sounding too loud in the dark. "Hey!"

The dancer glanced up. His face looked deathly pale in the moonlight. "Hi," he said, smiling. "Enjoy the show?"

"It was amazing," Blaine said. He caught Padgett by the elbow. "Honestly, it was one of the best routines you've done."

Padgett's checks turned a little pink. "You like the naughty schoolboy act, mm?" he said. He tweaked the tip of Blaine's nose. "Kinky."

Blaine cupped Padgett's face in his hands and kissed him. He felt Padgett freeze for a moment, as if even a simple kiss could scare him. Blaine pulled him a little closer, rubbing his thumbs soothingly against his jawline. Padgett relaxed under his touch and began to kiss him back.

"You're amazing," Blaine breathed into his mouth.

"I'm glad you think so," Padgett sighed.

Blaine pulled back. "I know so," he said fervently. He squeezed Padgett's shoulders and looked him up and down. "You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

"You're cute," Padgett said flatly, tugging away from Blaine's hands and walking towards the back of the parking lot.

"Why?" Blaine persisted. He jogged after him, his cheeks still feeling flushed from alcohol and emotion. "Why can't I think that you're amazing?"

"Because you don't actually know me," Padgett retorted. "If you knew…" He stopped, took a breath, squared his shoulders. "Blaine, honey, I'm older than you. I take my clothes off for a living. I-" He stopped again. His eyes looked colorless. "Don't you have a boyfriend to pay attention to you?"

Blaine folded his arms. "I told you," he said. "He's…he's not my boyfriend. We just…we mess around, okay? He's the only other person that I know who's gay, and out of the closet, and he…we just kind of ended up together." He looked up at the darkened sky. "Sebastian doesn't do affection. Or conversation. Just sex."

"Oh, like I'm so much better?" Padgett asked quietly.

Blaine reached over and took him by the wrist. "That first coffee date at the Lima Bean…that was the best conversation I'd had in months," he said. The bones of Padgett's wrist felt frail and birdlike under his fingers, his snow-white skin as thin as paper. "I wanted to go out with you because you're beautiful. I want to keep going out with you because you're amazing."

"So we're dating now?" Padgett said, arching an eyebrow. The moonlight cast shadows across his pale face, deepening the worry lines around his mouth and eyes.

"Well, no, I mean…not necessarily, but…." Blaine sighed. "I like being with you. I like being around you." He squeezed Padgett's wrist. "We can spend time together, right? Don't you like spending time with me?"

He purposefully looked at Padgett with his best sad puppy impression, praying it would sway the older man. Padgett sighed, his shoulders hunching inward. "I do," he confessed, as if it was something shameful. "I don't mind it."

Blaine took him by the hands. "Have we reached the point in our…whatever this is…that we can exchange phone numbers?" he asked. "Do you think?"

Padgett smiled at him, fond and world-weary. "Whatever you like," he said. He crooked his fingers. "Come on, get your phone out."

Blaine dug it out eagerly and tapped in the number that Padgett dictated. "I'll text you so you know it's me," he said. He squeezed Padgett's hand and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "I promise not to bother you." He paused and frowned. "Your hands are freezing."

"It's winter, darling," Padgett said dryly.

Impulsively, Blaine stripped off his thick gloves. "Here," he said, holding them out.

Padgett recoiled. "You're adorable, but no, thanks," he said. "I have some of my own."

"Then just wear these until you can get to your other ones," Blaine pleaded. "Your hands are so cold."

Reluctantly, Padgett took them from Blaine's grasp, careful not to let their fingers touch. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "I'll give them back next time I see you."

"Really, you can keep them if you want," Blaine said earnestly. Padgett ignored him, tugging the gloves over his cold hands and flexing his fingers carefully. Blaine leaned over and pressed a cautious kiss to Padgett's cool cheek. "Text me soon?"

"If I remember," Padgett said. He tapped Blaine under the chin. "Be good, little boy. I don't want you to get yourself in trouble."

"I'll be fine," Blaine said, smiling foolishly. "Can we go out for coffee again? Tomorrow, after I get off school? I can skip my last period if you want me too."

Padgett laughed. "You're adorable," he said. "No, no, stay in school. Can't have you ending up like me, can we?"

Blaine leaned in for another kiss, pressing their lips together firmly, hot and slightly clumsy. "Text me," he whispered, and Padgett nodded.

He waited all that night for Padgett to text. And all through the next day. It wasn't until Warblers rehearsal was half over that he finally received a terse _hi_.

Blaine just smiled foolishly. It was a start.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****First I give you Kurt stripping like a naughty schoolboy.

Then I suckerpunch you with angst.

SORRY.

I'M NOT SORRY.

THIS IS FUN.

In an angsty sort of way.

Poor Blaine. He's just a lonely, spoiled child. A poor little rich boy. He just wants love and affection and to feel needed and wanted and desired. And he thinks he's found it in this handsome, sexy, amazing older boy, and he revels in knowing that he's caught his eye and that he's actually amazing enough to have this sexy guy pay attention to him, and he loves feeling like he has this secret romance in his back pocket, and deep down he loves that he's giving Sebastian a taste of his own medicine, that now he can know what it's like to feel pushed aside and taken for granted. And he's so caught up in his own pleasant fantasies that he doesn't even notice anything about "Padgett." It's not that he's shallow or self-centered or doesn't care, it's just that he's bought so deeply into the image that Padgett presents that he doesn't notice that he's anxious and unhappy and scared.

This is your PoisonandWine!Blaine headcanon moment of the day.

I've had a couple people ask me where all of Kurt's money is going. It's explained within in the story in further chapters, but the basic gist of it is that he's trying to save up money to get himself out of Lima, and still paying off outstanding debts that his father left behind. He literally only has his car and the belongings he was able to get out of the house before the bank foreclosed on it. Poor precious boy.

But yeah.

Tell me what you think of this so far, or any headcanons you have! I want to hear them. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Kurt's phone vibrated and he snatched it up before it could shake its way off the makeup table.

**From: Blaine**

**9:27pm**

_Sorry, can't come tonight. Big competition coming up and we have to rehearse. :( _

He tried not to be upset. He really did. But he hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on seeing Blaine's bright puppy-dog eyes in the audience. And he always came on Wednesdays, like clockwork. The one reliable thing left in his life.

He stowed his phone away in his bag, swallowing his disappointment, and turned back to the mirror. His face looked skeletal in the fluorescent light, his cheeks hollow and his skin sallow. It was getting harder and harder to hide the dark circles under his eyes. He rubbed on concealer with a liberal hand, trying to erase them.

_I might have to start wearing makeup to school to cover this up, _he thought grimly.

"Beck, you're up," the stage manager said as he brushed by. "Padgett, you're up next."

"I know," he said irritably. He stood up and tugged down the hem of his old cheerleading shirt. He'd already taken it in once, stitching the side seams painstakingly by hand in the backseat of his car, but it was still at least a size too big.

_Pear hips aren't an issue anymore, I guess, _he thought. It gave him no satisfaction.

He leaned into the mirror and slicked another layer of shimmering cherry gloss over his lips. It looked garish in the harsh light.

He heard Beck's music start and with a heavy sigh he pushed himself away from the makeup table and stumbled towards the wings. His legs felt heavy, like they'd fallen asleep. He brushed past two other dancers gossiping in the corner and climbed the stairs, his whole body aching.

He needed to sleep. That was what he needed. A good night's sleep in a real bed, with sheets and pillows and blankets, instead of the back of the Navigator. And maybe a real dinner, the sort of dinner his dad used to love- meat and potatoes and soft white rolls covered in butter, with a glass of milk. And maybe even dessert. Maybe one of his mother's cakes- a golden yellow cake coated thickly in chocolate, or his father's favorite heavy spice cake draped in caramel, or even his own favorite, a butter cake so light and airy and pillowy it would melt in his mouth, layered with tangy lemon and simple sweet cream.

His empty stomach rumbled and he forced the thoughts away.

He leaned against an abandoned set piece, crossing his arms, and looked down at his shoes in the dark, dreading the moment Beck's routine ended. Dancing was the last thing he wanted to do. And definitely not stripping; his thin skin already prickled with goosebumps at the thought of being bared to the cold.

Suddenly a cough rose in his throat. He turned his head, muffling the sound into his shoulder. His chest ached as he tried to stifle it. He shivered.

_Forget the food and the sleep, you need to see a doctor, _a vicious little voice accused, and he blinked hard, trying to make himself forget that he'd heard it. He didn't need a doctor. Not when he didn't have his dad's health insurance. All he needed was some hot tea and some cough drops. It would go away eventually.

_You've been sick since January, _the voice reminded him.

"…and now our headliner…"

Kurt shook his head to clear his thoughts and stepped up to take his place. The opening notes of his song were already pulsing through the crowd. Beck brushed past him and offered a slight smile. Kurt nodded in return.

"…Padgett Price!"

He burst through the heavy curtains with a flamboyant pose and a saucy wink. Already the audience was hollering their approval. With a quick twist he pulled the red band off his wrist and shot it into the audience like a slingshot.

He threw himself into the routine, his thoughts going blank. The expressions came just as easily as the motions- wink, preen, flirt, wave. It was a showy number, full of flips and jumps. Who knew that a semester as a Cheerio would help him become a better stripper when he grew up?

The shirt was first to go. He tossed it back towards the wings, knowing it pulled up the hem of the tight red tank top he wore underneath and showed off his pale stomach. They always liked things like that- that hint of what he was hiding, what was going to come next. And the tank always slid around when he did flips, whetting their appetites for the sight of him.

He waited until he was upside down on the pole to wriggle out of the tank top. That was a crowd pleaser, and it didn't fail this time either. He let the shirt fall to the floor and kicked back over to land on his feet.

The tear away pants came last. It was an incredible cliché, but it was effective. The red briefs he wore underneath barely covered him, and even though it made him feel uncomfortable, he didn't have a choice.

At least he didn't have to be fully naked. Some of the other dancers did, and he knew they were paid more for it, but even though the pile of cash hidden in his car could use a healthy boost, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He finished his routine with one last stunt on the pole, sliding to the ground with his fingers stinging from holding on so tight. Applause echoed in the small club, drowning out the last beats of the music and turning to a dull roar in his ears.

He ran backstage to change, pulling off his red briefs and tugging on his white spankies. The feathers of his wings itched his cold bare shoulder blades as he shrugged into them. Another dancer brushed past him and he lost his balance, lurching forward to catch himself against the table.

"Five minutes to finale!" the stage manager called.

Kurt closed his eyes and sucked in a slow breath, fighting down the sudden wave of dizziness and nausea that attacked him. _Breathe, _he told himself. _Breathe, Hummel._

He stood up and opened his eyes, resolute. His trembling fingers closed around his halo and he dropped it on his head. His knees still shook a little, but he followed the other dancers out of the wings.

He'd perfected the art of zoning out during the finale. It had been interesting once, but after performing it every night five times a week…he just couldn't take it anymore. He just didn't care.

"Whoa, what're you doing?" another dancer hissed, catching him by the arm and yanking him back, and Kurt blinked.

"I'm just-"

"You have to go on the floor," the dancer whispered. "Remember? It's your night."

Kurt's shoulders sagged. He'd forgotten. He was supposed to wander the floor, talk to people, do private dances. He would have to stay until at least three in the morning, flirting with strangers.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say.

He trudged backstage and changed back into his cheerleading costume. He thought longingly of sleep, of hot tea, of the homework he still had to complete, but he forced it away, forced himself to stop thinking at all.

He wandered around the club for a while with a couple of the other dancers, chatting with patrons and getting up onstage to take a lazy turn around the pole. An hour dragged by. _Just a few more hours, _he consoled himself. _Think of all the extra money you'll make tonight._

"Are you busy?"

He glanced over his shoulder towards the corner booth to see an older man smiling at him. "For you, of course not," he said, lowering his voice to a purr.

The man's smile widened. "Come over here," he said, crooking his finger.

Kurt sashayed towards him and perched on the edge of the table. "Are you having fun?" he asked, crossing one leg coyly over the other.

The man looked him up and down. "So you're a cheerleader, hm?" he said.

Kurt shrugged. "I can be whatever you want me to be," he said.

The man shook his head and beckoned again. "I want you closer," he said.

Kurt slid off the table, preparing to sit beside him, but the man latched an arm around his waist and pulled him onto his lap. "You could have just asked," he said, trying to sound flirtatious and failing miserably. Panic spiked deep in his chest.

"You're such a pretty kid," the man murmured.

The arm was iron tight around him. "You're not supposed to touch," he said, breath seizing in his throat. He pulled away.

In a second the man had him by the wrist and pressed against the wall. "I like you," he said, his breath hot against Kurt's neck. Kurt froze. "I like you a lot."

The smell of alcohol on the man's breath made his eyes sting. "You…you can't," Kurt said, too scared to pull away. His chest heaved. "Let me go. Please."

The man's hand splayed against the small of his bare back, hot against his skin. He dragged his fingers over his hips and tangled them in the band of his underwear. His hand palmed at Kurt's crotch, pressing too hard, too fast.

Kurt tore away, a terrified scream ripping out between his clenched teeth. "Leave me alone!" he cried, voice trembling, hands shaking, stomach churning. Adrenaline burned hot and fast in his veins. "Please!"

In a second there was another dancer behind him, gripping his elbow. "He hurt you, kid?" Beck asked. He leaned over his shoulder and surveyed the club. "Somebody get Bruce."

The man held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't…I didn't do anything," he slurred.

Kurt took a step back. The club's bouncer strode in, big and imposing, and Kurt broke away, running for the back. His heart pounded in his chest; his whole body ached. He felt filthy.

He stumbled into the dressing room and collapsed at his makeup station, his breathing coming in wheezing gasps. His fingers shook as he held onto the edge of the table.

"Padgett, you all right?" the stage manager called. He jogged down the small steps into the dressing area. "Bruce kicked the jackass out."

"I want to go home," Kurt wheezed.

The stage manager looked at him with a sympathetic smile. "First time getting groped by a stranger, huh?" he said.

"It's…it's happened before, but not…not that bad," Kurt said. He closed his eyes. All he could see was that same scene replaying over and over again.

"Look, if you want to go home, we can cover for you," the stage manager said. "We'll work it out."

Kurt nodded. He tore off his skimpy costume pieces, wadding them up and shoving them under his station, and pulled on his own clothes. He scrubbed at his makeup and frantically combed his hair down, trying to rearrange his reflection until he looked familiar again. When he had done his best, he grabbed his keys and ran out of the club.

He threw himself into his car and pulled out of the parking lot without bothering to check to see if it was clear. A red car zipping past honked; he shook his head and stepped on the gas.

_I want to go home, _he thought. _I want to go home. I want to go home._

But he didn't have a home to go to anymore. The little house where he'd been born belonged to the bank now, rented out to a family that wouldn't know how to get the hot water heater to work right or care that it was his mother's idea to put in the window above the kitchen sink or realize that the pencil marks in the laundry room had measured Kurt's height since he was two years old. The garden was dead, the front door was black instead of yellow, the mailbox had a new name on it.

A sob broke from Kurt's throat, but his eyes were dry. He blinked hard and focused on the road ahead. The streets were quiet and cold and empty, littered with patches of dirty snow left from an early March storm. Lights blinked slow steady rhythms in yellow and red.

He pulled into the back of the Walmart parking lot and cut the engine. Without the motor churning or the heat pumping, the leftover silence was eerie. He toed off his shoes and left them in the front passenger seat, then climbed over the center console to get to the back. When he'd first realized he'd have to turn his car into a home, he'd flipped the seats down and turned the back into a makeshift bed. There had been enough warning before the eviction notice to pull as many belongings as he could out of the house, so he at least had blankets and pillows. More often as not he missed his soft mattress and the warmth of his electric blanket, but at least he had a place to sleep instead of the street.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he shifted around to pull it out. The light from the screen was almost too bright in the darkness.

**From: Blaine**

**1:58am**

_Still awake and studying. Gross. Wish I could've seen you. :(_

Kurt stared at the screen, his heart aching. He wished Blaine was there too. Blaine wouldn't have let that happen. Blaine would have stayed close by his side all night, never giving anyone the opportunity to get too close.

Without willing himself to, he hit the call button.

The phone rang once, twice. Kurt gripped the phone too hard. The urge to panic flared in his stomach.

"H'llo?"

Kurt clenched his fist. "Hi," he said, his voice coming out breathier than he intended.

"Padgett?" Blaine said. He sounded sleepy. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Kurt said. "Why do you think anything's wrong?"

"Well, you've never called me before, so I assumed…"

Kurt curled up with his back against the car's hatch, his arm wrapped around his knees. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "I just…got off early and thought I'd call you."

"I won't say no to that," Blaine said. Kurt could hear the pleased smile in his voice. "So how was your day?"

"Oh, you know," Kurt said, staring down at his toes. His left sock was beginning to get a hole. "The usual. How was yours?"

He began to relax as Blaine chatted amiably, the tension from his shoulders drawing away at the sound of his voice. It was reassuring to hear him talk, his voice low and sleepy, sometimes interspersed with a gentle chuckle. He changed into his pajamas as they talked, pulling on a pair of flannel pajama pants with one hand and wrestling into his dad's old long-sleeved Buckeyes shirt.

"Hey, I should probably go to bed," Blaine said at last. "It's three in the morning."

"Really?" Kurt said. "Oh, god. I'd better get to sleep."

"Yeah, I have a test first period," Blaine said. He cleared his throat. "I'm really glad you called me."

Kurt laid down in his nest and pulled his pile of blankets up around his shoulders. "Me too," he said.

"You can call whenever you want," Blaine offered.

"Maybe," Kurt said, and he smiled when he heard Blaine laugh. "Goodnight, Blaine."

"Goodnight, Padgett."

_It's Kurt, _he nearly said, but he bit his tongue. He ended the call and set the phone aside, then burrowed under his blankets. Cold air eked through the car; he curled up tighter in an effort to keep warm. He fell asleep almost immediately, and for the first time in months he slept through the night without starting awake from a nightmare.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****UGH KURT YOU POOR PRECIOUS BABY. WHY AM I SO MEAN TO YOU?!

Blaine, you'd better hurry up and do something, or I'm going to bite you. Seriously. BLAINE, YOU NEED TO SAVE HIM.

Although...I've written the next three chapters, and...well, it has to get worse before it gets better.

In any case, I've been getting a lot of questions about Kurt's situation, and the best collection of them came from my sweet Jessica, so I promised I would answer all of them in the next update. So here are my answers!

**1. Why is he not in foster care? If he's under 18, wouldn't the state take custody of him once Burt died? Or he'd be forced to live with his aunt in IL? **

When Burt died, his will stated that legal custody was to go to his aunt; she initially agreed to take him and that was that. Then she changed her mind, and the Hummel relatives argued over who was going to have to take him, and Kurt, being the stubborn child that he is, decided to strike out on his own without taking charity from a family that didn't even really want him around. As far as the state knows, he's living in Illinois with his aunt.

**2. What happened to his house? I mean, obviously he can't pay for an entire house with the type of money he's making but what happened to it that he's now living in his car? **

The bank foreclosed on the house when he couldn't keep up with the mortgage payments. He had just enough time to run in and grab what possessions he could before the bank came to formally evict him- although, according to their records, the house had been vacant since Burt's death.

**3. Does he only have the one job at the club or does he have another?**

****He only works at the club. He's trying to finish high school so he can get his diploma and go off to college in New York, but it's hard to go to school all day and work five nights a week at the club. On his days off he catches up on homework and sleeps, mostly.

**4. Where does he shower and eat and stuff? I mean, if he dresses the same as he always does and there aren't any drastic differences in that respect, then he must be bathing and stuff somewhere (that people won't notice him).  
I guess I'm just really curious about how Kurt goes about living the way he does. Is it that he's being really sneaky and moving under the radar or it a bit like in Never Been Kissed where it's obvious he's having problems but people just aren't noticing (other than Rachel, it seems)?**

****Kurt is terribly, terribly evasive. In the months since Burt's death, he's put together an elaborate web of lies that he's been able to maintain fairly well. After his father's funeral, he starting shutting everyone out- dropped out of glee, ignored phone calls, hid when people came to visit so they'd think he wasn't home. But most of his father's checking account went towards paying funeral costs and continuing bills, and Kurt couldn't access his savings or investments, so first the garage was sold, and then the house was foreclosed on. He literally has only what he was able to throw into his car before he was evicted (the car was completely paid off and his father had put the title in his name so it wasn't taken by the bank). After he lost the house, he tried to keep going, but the rest of Burt's money is held in trust until he turns eighteen, so he doesn't have anything except what he makes by stripping. He finally got the job at the club, but he compulsively saves most of the money. His plan is to stick it out in Lima until he graduates from high school, then go to New York to go to college. So he's saving money for school and future living expenses, because while he can live in his car in Lima, he knows it'll be a million times more dangerous in New York City.

He's able to shower at school or at the club, and he usually eats off the dollar menus at various fast food places. He tries to pick a different drive-through every night, just so that no one sees him frequently enough to get suspicious.

As for his friends, they know there's something wrong with him, but no one has been able to get through to him. Every time they try to talk he just stares at them blankly until they give up and walk away. They managed to get him in Miss Pillsbury's office once a week or two after the funeral and he just refused to talk. They chalk it up to him grieving over his father's death, and that his aunt isn't really taking good care of him, but they all know how stubborn he is and that they can't get anything out of him.

Poor precious kitten. BLAINE, GO SAVE HIM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine stared, openmouthed. He knew Padgett could sing, but he didn't know he could sing like _that._

Padgett eased across the stage, slinky and seductive, dressed in sinfully tight baseball pants and an oversized jersey that slipped across his chest, baring his shoulder and collarbone. "Whatever Lola wants," he sang, his voice sliding across the notes. "Lola gets."

Someone whistled shrilly. Padgett turned and winked towards the whistler with a saucy tilt of his head. "I always get what I aim for," he sang, slipping out of the jersey. "And your heart and soul is what I came for."

Blaine leaned back in his chair, grinning in delight. Padgett was amazing. His half-naked slender body glowed under the stage lights; his eyes were huge and shining blue. _I've kissed him, _Blaine thought, delighted. His lips tingled at the memory. He put his fingers to his mouth, already daydreaming of the warm firm press of Padgett's soft lips against his.

"You'll never win," Padgett crooned. He was down to just a thin pair of red satin briefs, his thumb tugging down the waistband. "I'm irresistible, you fool…give in."

He finished the number with a sweeping fall to his knees, leaning back and presenting himself to the audience. Blaine clapped till his hands stung, his stomach giving an unsteady leap as Padgett uncoiled from his slinky pose and strutted offstage with a last wave.

Blaine snatched up his coat and ran outside to the stage door. He wrestled his arms into the sleeves as he waited impatiently, a light rain falling softly on his head. His heart skipped a beat as he lifted his hood over his head and waited for Padgett.

The back door creaked open and a slim figure in an ill-fitting jacket walked out. "Padgett!" Blaine called.

He caught a glimpse of Padgett's profile in the streetlamp. "Hi," he said. "Like the show?"

"I loved it," Blaine said, sidling close to him. He ached to reach over and take Padgett's hand, but the dancer's slender fingers were hidden in the pockets of his jacket.

"The audience usually likes the baseball uniform," Padgett said. In the dim light his face seemed haggard, smeared with old makeup and bruised from lack of sleep. His eyes seemed bluer from the shadows. "Shouldn't you be at home? Asleep?"

"Couldn't sleep," Blaine said. He was so close that he could breathe in the warm scent of Padgett's skin.

"Want to switch places?" Padgett asked dryly.

Blaine slipped his hand around Padgett's arm, feeling the fragility of his bones beneath the thin fabric of his coat. "Can I please kiss you?" he begged. "I've been thinking about it all day."

Padgett laughed suddenly, bright and delighted, and Blaine couldn't wait. He leaned in and kissed Padgett's soft mouth, tasting faint toothpaste and lipstick and an unbearably spicy sweetness. Padgett froze for a second, and then he relaxed, his hands sliding out of his pockets to rest gingerly on Blaine's waist.

His heart seized up and without thinking he lifted Padgett's arms around his neck and wrapped his hands around Padgett's thighs, hoisting him up and pressing him back against the wall. Padgett clung to him for a second, startled, and then his hands tangled in Blaine's dark curls, pulling him closer.

There was something hungry about the way Padgett was kissing him, as if he was half-starved and Blaine was the only thing that could keep him alive. His skin felt hot to the touch, his lips hungry and persistent. His mouth opened eagerly, moving against his. Blaine sank into the kiss, the heat melting him away.

"I have to go," Padgett murmured into his mouth, but Blaine kissed the words away. Padgett tugged lightly on the curls at the nape of his neck. "Please, Blaine, I have to…I have to go." He pressed a kiss to Blaine's mouth and leaned back, his lips plump and cherry red. "I have to go and so do you. Or you'll get in trouble."

"I don't mind," Blaine breathed, leaning in to kiss him again.

Padgett's cold fingers touched his lips. "Go home, Blaine," he said softly.

"You really want me to go?" Blaine said, raising an eyebrow.

He thought he could predict Padgett at this point, but the brunet surprised him by dropping his head to Blaine's shoulder. Startled, Blaine held him closer, feeling Padgett cling to him like a tired child looking for comfort.

"Go home, Blaine," he said softly. "You'll freeze out here in the rain."

He lifted his head and slid to the ground, giving Blaine's arm one last affectionate squeeze. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. "Are you sure you want to just send me home?" Blaine said.

Padgett leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blaine's forehead. "I'm sure," he said. "Goodnight, Blaine."

He walked away, his hands deep in his pockets, his scarf askew around his neck. Blaine suppressed a heavy sigh, his whole body strung too tight. Reluctantly he walked back to his car, climbed in, and drove away, searching for the faintest glimpse of Padgett to no avail.

He drove back to Dalton in silence, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and humming to himself. It took a moment to realize he was humming the song Padgett had stripped to. He smiled to himself, seeing it again in his mind's eye.

He pulled into his normal parking space and climbed out of his jeep, jangling his keys merrily in his fingers. The dorm was quiet and dark; he let himself in with his key fob and made his way stealthily up the back stairs to his room, thanking his lucky stars for the millionth time that his parents agreed to letting him have a private room.

"Have a fun night?"

Blaine jumped, his keys clattering on his desk. "Holy god, Sebastian, what are you doing here?" he sputtered.

His erstwhile boyfriend- or whatever they were- lounged on his bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "Thought we ought to have a little chat," Sebastian said coolly. "Where have you been?"

"Out," Blaine said.

"Out where?"

"What are you, my mother?" Blaine said, forcing a laugh.

Sebastian slid off the bed. "Out where?" he repeated.

"You're not in charge of me," Blaine said. "I don't have to answer to you."

"You're my boyfriend, Blaine," Sebastian snapped.

"Oh, really?" Blaine retorted. He shrugged out of his coat and threw it across the foot of the bed. "We're boyfriends."

"Of course we are," Sebastian said. "Unless you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten anything, Sebastian," Blaine said. "I haven't forgotten how you flirt with every guy who walks past you, even if I'm sitting there. Or how you blow me off if you find something more interesting to do. Or how…how you won't talk to me."

"We talk!" Sebastian said. "What are we doing now?"

"We're fighting," Blaine shot back. "Not talking. Talking is when you sit and exchange words about…about how things are going, and stuff you like and don't like, and…" He exhaled sharply through his teeth and tossed his scarf across his desk. "We don't talk, Sebastian. Every time I try to have a conversation with you, you stick your tongue down my throat."

"I thought you liked sex," Sebastian said.

"There's more to life than sex!" Blaine said, running a hand through his hair. "God, you're so…so fixated on sex. I want more than just sex, Sebastian. I want someone who'll hold my hand. Someone who'll talk to me on the phone for an hour just because they want to hear my voice. Someone who'll be faithful to me. Who'll love me." He inhaled deeply, rubbing the sides of his nose, and dropped his hands. "Sebastian, do you love me?"

Sebastian's adam's apple jumped. "I care about you, Blaine, I-"

"No, no, not 'I care about you,' or 'I'm attracted to you,'" Blaine said. He took a step forward. "Do…you…love…me?"

Sebastian regarded him coolly, his expression unreadable. "Not the way you'd like to be loved, apparently," he said.

Blaine took a step back. "So that's it, then?" he said.

"I suppose so," Sebastian said.

They stared at each other.

"I want to break up," Blaine whispered.

Sebastian slid his hands in his pockets. "I thought you just did," he said quietly. He headed towards the door. "See you around, Blaine."

The door closed behind him. Blaine sank down to the floor, leaning heavily against his dresser. He ought to cry, but he didn't feel sad. He just felt relieved.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****YESSSSSSSSS GOOD MORE.

YAY BLAINE BROKE UP WITH SEBASTIAN.

NOW. BLAINE. GO RESCUE KURT.

GO NOW.

GO NOW AND TAKE HIM HOME AND FIX EVERYTHING.

Except I know what comes up in the next chapter.

And it's bad things.

Bad things are in the next chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Kurt slipped into the back of the auditorium, his hat pulled down low over his ears and his hands deep in his pockets. The New Directions was the last to perform; he figured he could see them sing, stay long enough to say hello and offer a "good job, you guys," and then bolt before his show that night.

He hunched down in his seat just as the New Directions took to the stage. They looked good. They sounded good.

He didn't really care.

He'd quit glee club pretty much as soon as his father died. They'd tried to help him through his dad's illness, awkward and fumbling in their attempts, but he hadn't been interested at the time. He was just focused on waiting for his dad to get better, holding things together until his dad could come back and put everything to rights. He just had to wait it out, be patient, and things would be all right.

And then his father died. A second heart attack, the doctor said. He didn't really remember the details. He just remembered holding onto his father's hand in the middle of the night, his strong fingers weak and limp in his grip, and then suddenly the room exploded as the machines went crazy, and then…nothing.

He woke up later in a hospital bed of his own. He'd had a panic attack, he was told. They had to sedate him.

Sometimes he still felt sedated.

The funeral was a blur. His friends came, offering hugs and condolences, but he was too numb to accept them. People brought food. He couldn't eat. His relatives sent cards. His uncle mentioned his aunt would take him, his aunt said his grandfather, his grandfather said his cousin. He didn't want to live with any of them. So he stayed at home. He told everyone he was living with his aunt. Everyone accepted it. No one ever came over to check on him, to see that the house was a wreck and the food in the fridge was going bad and that he slept in his father's abandoned bed every night.

The garage was the first to go. He couldn't manage a business and try to drag himself to school at the same time. The guys at the garage were concerned, asked if there was anything they could do. He said no. The garage closed down.

And then he realized that he couldn't get into his father's bank account. He couldn't get access at all.

And then it got harder and harder to pay the bills. The mortgage, electricity, water, cable, car payments. It was too much. They shut the power off first, then the water. They repossessed his father's truck.

And then they took the house.

He found out about it with hours to spare. According to the bank, no one was living there- he was supposed to be living with his aunt in another state, after all. It was vacant and no payments had been made. There was just enough time to run inside and gather up whatever possessions he could grab, shoving them into his car and driving away before the people from the bank could get there.

He started sleeping in different parking lots every night. He never slept well, and his car didn't exactly shut out the cold, but it was better than living on the streets. He dragged himself into school every day, where everyone gave him a wide berth. Teachers didn't want to interfere with a clearly grieving student; his friends assumed he wanted to be left alone. And he did. He didn't want anyone to know what was going on. What would they think of him?

He got a job for a little while, just working at a grocery store, but he only made minimum wage- not enough to live on. And he wasn't a good worker; he was exhausted and surly and unkempt. They fired him after a few weeks.

No wonder he turned to stripping. He would rather die than let anyone know about it, but he was saving money, good money. All he needed to do was scrimp and save for the next year and a half until he graduated. Once he was eighteen, he could get access to the college savings account his father had left for him. He could take the money he had saved up and go to school in New York, pull himself out of this hellhole and make a life for himself. He could do it. He could. He just needed to hold on a little bit longer.

Applause rang in his ears and he jerked awake with a sudden start. The performance was over and he'd slept through it. He clapped woodenly, his head still thick from sleep. Great. Now he would have to make up some kind of lie for his friends so they would think he'd actually heard them sing.

"That concludes our competitors for the afternoon," the emcee said, the tinny sound of the microphone feedback making his already aching ears sting. "We'll take a thirty minute break and reconvene for judging at four o'clock."

He slid out of his seat, his hands still in his pockets, and shuffled towards the stage. The New Directions spilled down the side staircase, laughing and chatting, obviously overjoyed over their performance. His vision blurred; it looked like a swarm of gaily dressed birds descending on him, the boys in their shining ties and the girls in their full chiffon dresses. He rubbed his eyes and forced a smile as he walked over to them.

"You guys were fantastic," he said, keeping his voice light.

"Oh my god, Kurt!" Brittany screeched, and she rushed towards him. He stumbled back, nearly losing his balance as he was assaulted with hugs and shouts from his friends. Mike wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Quinn pressed a kiss to his cheek, and for a moment he closed his eyes and tried to forget. "I'm so glad you came!" Rachel said, clinging his hand. Her dark eyes had gone starry in joy. "I was so scared you wouldn't make it."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, trying to smile.

"Kurt, you need to come back," Brittany begged. "I miss you. It's not the same without you."

"Yeah, dude, we need you and that voice of yours," Puck said. "You…you still sing, right?"

"Of course," Kurt scoffed, trying to act nonchalant. "I'm still me."

His friends exploded in noisy babble, trying to ask him a million questions and tell him a thousand stories, but a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and turned him around a little. "Hey," Finn said. "Hey, how are you?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"Really? You're sure?" Finn said. His brown eyes searched Kurt's face till he squirmed a little under the scrutiny. "My mom's been trying to call you."

"Oh, you know how busy my aunt keeps me," Kurt said lightly.

"Yeah," Finn said. "Yeah, um…my mom says every time she calls…it says the number's not in service."

"Really?" Kurt said, feigning dumb. He'd had to switch from his father's defunct cell phone plan to a pay-by-the-month phone; he hadn't given anyone the new number. "Huh. That's weird. Maybe she has it programmed wrong in her phone."

Finn squeezed his shoulder; the touch was gentle but Kurt winced, knowing that Finn could feel every bone through his paper-thin skin. "She's really worried about you," Finn said softly. "Me too. Do you…do you want to come over for dinner? She really wants to see you."

He smiled, his lips trembling a little. "My aunt doesn't like me to get out much," he lied. "Tell your mom it's very nice of her, though. And that…and that I say hi."

"I will," Finn said. "But you could always come see her yourself, you know. She really loved your dad, and she really loves you. Like you're her own kid, even. She-"

"So Kurt, what did you think?" Rachel interrupted, and Kurt allowed himself to be pulled away into the new conversation.

"What do I think of what?" he asked blankly.

"Of our performance, silly!" Rachel said. "Do you think we'll win?"

"Well, um…I got here late, so I only saw you guys," he said. "But I thought you did really well."

"You weren't here for sectionals," Mercedes said. "We tied with a choir from an all-boys school, and they're so good. Really good."

"Of course, the other school we competed against is nothing, but the Warblers really are amazing," Rachel said. "Our only real competition." She whirled around, tugging Kurt to her side. "See? Over there. That's them. They're so talented. And their lead singer is fantastic."

Kurt's heart dropped to his shoes.

"He's so handsome, too," Rachel said, darting a sharp look at Finn. "It's a good thing I'm single because…"

Kurt's ears roared.

"…not much of a dancer, but his voice…"

He felt like he was going to be sick.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around…_

Blaine turned around.

Kurt stared at him blankly, his feet frozen to the ground. Blaine smiled at him uncertainly, then blinked. His hazel eyes widened.

_Oh god. He recognizes me._

He was suddenly, painfully aware of his appearance- his ill-fitting clothes, his threadbare shoes, the sallowness of his skin, the bags under his eyes. Without the sultry filter of the stage lights or the warm glow of the coffee shop in the early evening he knew he looked like a scarecrow, bony and thin and sickly.

Blaine's jaw dropped. He took a step towards him.

Kurt bolted, pushing past his friends, nearly tripping over his shoes. "Kurt!" Rachel called. "Kurt! Wait, come back! What's wrong? Kurt!"

He pushed the exit door open, the cold winter afternoon air whipping at his face and biting at his lips and stinging his already burning eyes.

"_Kurt!"_

The door clanged shut behind him. There was no going back.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****OH GOD IT HAS TO GET WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER BUT AUGGGGGGGH.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

It couldn't be him.

Blaine stared, mouth agape. There was no way it could be him, and yet…it had to be.

He stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the cluster of brightly-dressed high school students. His clothes were too big for him; his ill-fitting coat hunched around his shoulders like a turtle's shell. But it wasn't just the way he was dressed. Blaine hadn't seen him in broad daylight like this before- just in the smoky atmosphere of the club, or the dimness of the streetlights, or the diffused late afternoon warmth of their coffee shop. In the harsh daylight he could see how pale he was, how his lips were cracked and dry, how his eyes were ringed with dark shadows, how his cheeks were hollow and his fingers were bony.

But worst of all, he could see how damn _young _he looked.

Padgett stared back at him, his eyes huge and startled like a fawn spotted by a hunter. His entire thin body tensed. Blaine took a hesitant step towards him, and suddenly Padgett bolted, his knees nearly buckling as he took off.

The little soloist from the rival choir ran a few steps after him. "Kurt!" she called.

_Who the hell is Kurt?_

"Kurt! Wait, what's wrong?"

Blaine felt like he was going to be sick.

"Come back! Kurt!"

The door had already slammed shut behind him. Blaine stumbled over to the other choir, their members staring shell-shocked. "Who…who's that?" he said.

"Why? Why do you want to know?" a sharp-eyed brunette girl shot back.

"It's just…it's important, I think...I think I know him," Blaine stammered.

"How do you know him?" a tall teenager with a mohawk demanded, eyes narrowed.

"It doesn't matter right now, just…what's his name?" Blaine begged.

"His name's Kurt," a dewy-eyed blonde said, blinking at him. "Kurt Hummel."

Blaine sucked in his breath. He knew "Padgett" had to be a stage name, but still. He knew his name now. His real name. A name that made him somehow a million times more human. "Are you his friends? You know him pretty well?"

"He goes to school with us," the blonde said. "He used to be in our glee club, before his dad died."

Blaine's heart was beating too fast against his ribcage. "You mean…before, before he graduated," he said.

"No, this year," the blonde said patiently.

"But…but he's twenty-one," Blaine stammered.

"No, he's not."

"But he's-"

"He's sixteen."

Blaine clamped a hand over his mouth. _Oh god, oh god, oh god…_

"Why are you asking us all of this?" a tall brunet boy asked, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "How do you know Kurt?"

Blaine took off running, the exit door banging open and slamming behind him. He ran up to the railing at the exit steps, desperately scanning the parking lot. Padgett- _no, Kurt- _was running through the lines of cars. The sole of his right shoe flopped open in the back. He felt like he was going to throw up.

He skidded down the dirty concrete steps, jumping down them two at a time. His heart was in his throat. _If I don't catch him in time…_

He rounded the corner to the edge of the parking lot and found him. The slim young man- _boy, he's just a boy, he's only sixteen- _was on his hands and knees, fumbling for his dropped keys.

"Kurt."

The blue-eyed boy jerked up, his face ghostly white. "What?" he stammered.

"Your name's Kurt," Blaine said woodenly.

He sank back on his heels. "I…I'm…" He closed his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Blaine pressed, sounding harsher than he meant.

"Yes, my name is Kurt Hummel," he whispered.

"And you're not twenty-one."

"No."

"You're sixteen."

"Yes."

"You're younger than me!" Blaine burst out. "Oh my god, you're younger than me!"

Kurt grabbed his keys out of a patch of dirty slush. "Oh, really?" he said lightly. "You never told me. Isn't that funny? I thought I looked-"

Blaine grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "You're sixteen!" he shouted. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Kurt tried to pull out of his grip. "I have to, Blaine!" he shouted back, his voice high-pitched and raspy around the edges. "I don't have any other choice!"

"Why?" Blaine demanded. His fingers curled tighter around Kurt's arm. He could feel the brittle bone through his soft thin skin, fragile enough to snap. "What's going on? What's so damn bad that you have to…to…"

"To what, Blaine?" Kurt snapped. "Strip? Sell myself? Go on, say it." His thin lips spread wide in a horrible smile. "I know you're thinking it."

The smile widened, terrible and broken. "It wasn't so bad when you thought I was older. When you thought I was sexy."

In one swift motion he pried himself out of Blaine's startled grip and pushed him up against the car, his body pressed against his. "This doesn't change anything. I'm still a whore. You're still addicted to it."

"You're not a whore," Blaine breathed. "You're not. I mean…you don't…"

"I'm not a prostitute, if that's what you're asking," Kurt sneered. "At least, not yet." He looked Blaine up and down, eyeing him like a slab of meat. "You've thought about it, haven't you?"

"About…about what?" Blaine said.

"Sleeping with me," Kurt purred. He trailed his fingers over Blaine's chest, pulling and tugging until the buttons slid open. "I know you have. You've fantasized about it. Am I right?" Blaine froze, his chest heaving as Kurt leaned closer, mouthing at the line of his jaw. "You were willing to pay, even."

"Stop it," Blaine whispered.

"I'm a virgin, you know," Kurt cooed, kissing hungrily at Blaine's neck. "A lot of people would pay extra for that."

"Stop it," Blaine repeated, his throat tightening.

"Think of all that power," Kurt whispered. His breath was warm against Blaine's cool skin, sending chills down his spine. "You'd have my virginity. You'd have everything. I'd be all yours…"

"Stop it!" Blaine roared. He grabbed at Kurt's wrists and the sultry cunning fell from Kurt's expression. There was no power, no sexiness, no wantonness- just a scared child staring at him with huge terrified eyes. "Kurt, Kurt, please…please stop."

He could feel Kurt's fine-boned wrists shuddering in his tight grip. "Why?" Kurt said, his chin trembling. "Why? Why does it matter? Why does anything matter?"

"You're just a kid," Blaine said. "You're…you're working in a strip club. Your friends act like they haven't seen you in ages. They're worried about you." Kurt pressed his lips together, but his blue eyes were dry. He sagged a little in Blaine's grip, and Blaine relaxed his hold, turning him gently to let him lean against the grimy black Lincoln Navigator. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kurt whispered hoarsely.

Blaine cupped his face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over Kurt's hollow cheeks. "Don't lie," he begged. "Not to me. Please. Please, what's wrong? If there's anything…"

His voice trailed off as his gaze caught the interior of the car. An unfolded fleece blanket was scattered across several thin pillows; items of clothing were hung over the backs of the seats. "Oh my god," he breathed. "Oh my god, do you…do you live in your car?"

"Shut up!" Kurt screamed, tearing out of his grip. His shoulders hunched, his hands clenched into fists. "Just shut up!"

Blaine covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh my god, you're-"

"Shut the hell up!" Kurt shouted. He shoved Blaine back; he staggered in surprise into a small sedan, striking his elbow sharply on the door. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare tell anyone."

"Kurt, you can't do this!" Blaine said, holding on tightly to his smarting elbow. "You can't! You're just a kid, Kurt, you-"

"I was doing just damn fine before you and I'll be fine after!" Kurt said. His breath came in sharp ragged gasps. "Don't you dare show up at the club again, Blaine."

"But I-"

"If you ever show your face at the club again, I swear I'll go straight to the school board of your fancy little rich boy school and tell them exactly where you've been and what you've been doing," Kurt said. His voice fell low and menacing; his eyes had gone pale and colorless. "And you won't be able to fight it out. All they'd have to do is look at your credit card records. All the entry fees, all the illegal alcohol. Think your school will really want to keep you around?" His lips curled. "Think your parents will be proud of you?"

"I don't know," Blaine said quietly. "Are yours?"

The color drained from Kurt's face and he slapped Blaine hard with all the force in his slim body. Blaine reeled back, his head striking the sedan behind him. "Don't you ever come near me, Anderson!" Kurt shouted. "You hear me? Never!"

Blaine sank down to the pavement, his hand pressed to his stinging cheek. He watched, stunned, as Kurt slammed the driver's side door of his car and peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. It didn't feel like his heart was pounding too hard anymore.

It just felt like it was broken.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE?


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Kurt stumbled off the stage and crouched down, hiding his face in his bent knees. His whole body shook, his bare skin marked all over in goosebumps. The dark shadows around him spun and suffocated him. He couldn't breathe.

It felt like an hour went by. He could hear the music for the finale starting, blaring in his aching ears, tinny and sharp. They weren't going to be happy that he was missing it, but _oh god, he couldn't stand up._

He covered his eyes with his shaking hands. A faint high whine escaped from the back of his throat, but he couldn't help it.

He shouldn't have made himself go to work. He'd felt sick- sicker than usual- all through school, and the nap he took in the back parking lot of the Home Depot hadn't helped. But he'd dragged himself to work anyway, piling on the makeup and forcing himself into his costume. He'd been off for his whole number, he knew it, but they didn't care. They never did. They just wanted to see him strip. That's all anyone cared about.

"Price! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He glanced up between his fingers to see the club manager glaring above him. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I was just-"

"Just nothing, it's in your contract that you have to do the finale every night whether you like it or not," he said. He grabbed Kurt by the wrist and yanked to his feet. "You wanna get fired? Is that it?"

"No!" he said. "No, I'm sorry, I just…I don't feel well. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you're damn right you're sorry," the manager said. "You've been sucking ass lately, Price. What's got into you?"

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing, I-"

Another dancer bumped into him on his way into the wings and he stumbled, swaying on his feet. "Hey, man, what's the problem?"

"Reading Price the riot act, that's the problem."

Kurt felt a big hand close on his shoulder. "Aw, c'mon, cut him some slack," Beck said.

"I'll cut him some slack, all right. You know what, Price? Don't bother coming in tomorrow."

"But I-"

Beck squeezed his shoulder and dragged him out of the wings before the club manager could tear into him again. Kurt tripped over his own feet as he stumbled down the spiral stairs. "I didn't mean it," he said, his lips numb. "I didn't. I didn't."

"I know, kid, calm down," Beck said. He forced Kurt into a seat at the makeup table. "God, you're shaking like a leaf. You all right?"

Kurt curled up tighter. "I don't feel well," he mumbled.

Beck picked up a jacket from the rack behind him and draped over Kurt's shoulders, then sat down across from him. "Listen, Padgett, I don't mean to pry, but…" He cleared his throat. "You doing all right?"

"I'm fine," Kurt said, chewing on his thumbnail.

Beck sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "Whatever, man," he said. "I know you keep to yourself and all, but…you look awful."

"Thanks," Kurt muttered.

"Don't get pissed," Beck said. "I was just…you know what? Never mind. I got stuff to do."

He reached for his clothes and started changing. Kurt huddled under the jacket, breathing in the scent of stale cigarette smoke and spilled cheap cologne. The other dancers filed past, bantering back and forth. One of them nudged him as he passed; Kurt ducked down further.

"Hey, Beck, heading out to your second job?" one of them called. Beck made a lewd gesture in response and the others laughed. Kurt felt the back of his neck heat in secondhand embarrassment.

"You're just jealous 'cause a little side-action is what gives me the big bucks," Beck shouted, and the others hollered back their responses.

Kurt pulled the jacket tight around his shoulders and leaned in a little closer. "Hey, Beck?" he ventured.

"Yeah, kid?"

"You…uh…how…how much money do you make?" Kurt whispered.

"Make huh?"

"You know, from…from hooking," he said, fidgeting anxiously.

Beck laughed. "You're not thinking about it, are you?" he said. He looked at Kurt and his smiled faded. "Oh god. You are, aren't you?"

Kurt shifted uncomfortably. "I need the money," he said numbly.

Beck sat down across from him, folding his arms across his chest. "Listen, kid, you're too young to get into this kind of stuff," he said gently. "You'll make more money, yeah, but you're just…you're too young. You're gonna get hurt."

Kurt laughed, the sound cracked in his own ears. "I'm already hurt," he said, the words coming out more bitter than he intended.

Beck balanced his elbows on his bent knees and leaned forward. "Don't do it," he said quietly. "It's not worth it. Me, I'm stuck. I'm not going to get out of here. You're still young. You can leave this."

"I can't," Kurt said, shaking his head. It only made him feel more dizzy. "I can't, I just…I can't. I need money. I just need the money, and then I can leave. I can leave, I can go to New York, I can just…just get the hell out of this place and…then…then things will be all right, and I…"

Beck shook him lightly by the shoulders. "Come on, kiddo, snap out of it," he said. "You sure you're all right? You're scaring me a little."

"I'm fine," Kurt said, tearing away from Beck's grip and letting the jacket slide off his shoulders. "I'm fine, I'll just…I'll be here tomorrow, okay? I'll be here tomorrow."

"Padgett, they already said not to come, you can't…"

He stumbled away to his makeup station in the corner, fumbling for his clothes. His fingers shook as he stripped out of his tiny costume and pulled on his own clothes; his skinny jeans nearly slid down his hips and his tee shirt hung on his thin ribcage. He shrugged clumsily into his father's oversized plaid shirt- it had long since lost the comforting smell of soap and motor oil and home, but the flannel was thick and soft against his stinging skin. The other dancers laughed and called back and forth to each other; he jammed his feet into his sneakers, pulled on his coat, and grabbed his things.

Outside it was still wickedly cold for March, the wind cutting him sharply and the freezing rain dripping down his neck. He dug around in his pockets for his hat and pulled it on over his disheveled hair. A pair of gloves tumbled out and fell on the ground.

He bent to pick them up and recoiled sharply. Blaine's gloves.

For a second he hesitated, then he snatched them up and stumbled down the alleyway. Two weeks ago Blaine would have waited for him in this alley. Two weeks ago he would have stood under the streetlight, eager and expectant as a puppy. Kurt's stomach ached, and he hid a cough behind the back of his hand as he headed blindly towards his car.

He climbed into the driver's seat and jammed the key in the ignition. The gas tank was barely hovering above empty, but he had no desire to spend his hard earned money at a gas station.

_You'd make more money if you sold yourself, _a wicked voice whispered in the back of his head.

He pulled into a CVS parking lot and cut the engine. His hands shook. Slowly he lowered his head until his forehead touched the steering wheel. He huddled there for what felt like hours, his shoulders heaving with silent aching sobs, but his eyes were bone dry.

* * *

**Authoor's Notes:**

****WHY AM I DOING THIS?! WHY?! KURT, I'M SO SORRY. I LOVE YOU, BB. I WILL CUDDLE YOU AND FIX EVERYTHING AND I'M _SO SORRY._

__If it's any consolation, I do promise that this story has a happy ending- and only has a few chapters left. Five, maybe? Five and an epilogue? Something like that.

But in order to make the happy ending as absolutely satisfying as possible, I'm making everybody suffer. You get to see Blaine in the next chapter and he's pretty stinkin' miserable too.

BUT HE'S GOING TO FIND OUT ALL SORTS OF THINGS ABOUT KURT. AND MAYBE HE'LL CHANGE HIS MIND. PLEASE, BLAINE, CHANGE YOUR MIND.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

"Blaine? Blaine!"

He blinked, still resting his chin in his hand. "Hm?"

Wes glared at him. "You missed your cue," he said.

He sat up. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I wasn't…I wasn't thinking."

"We can tell," David said. "Are you all right?"

He could feel Sebastian's eyes boring into him. "I'm fine," he said, straightening up. "Sorry. Let me try again?"

"We would, but rehearsal's over," Wes snapped. "You'd better be on point tomorrow, Blaine, or we'll have to talk about you keeping your solo."

"Fine," Blaine shrugged. "You know what? I don't want it anymore." He glanced over at Sebastian. "There's a lot of things I don't want anymore."

He picked up his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder as he walked out with his head held high. The other Warblers dissolved into hushed murmurs in his wake, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore.

A slim hand caught his elbow, quick and viselike. "Where do you think you're going?" Sebastian asked.

"To my room," Blaine said. "I've got homework. You know, homework?"

Sebastian's grip tightened. "Going out to the club again, are you?" he hissed.

Blaine's throat jumped. He hadn't been to the club in two weeks. Two weeks since Padgett- _Kurt_- had broken down in the parking lot and ordered him to stay away. Two weeks since he'd obeyed.

All he wanted was to go back.

"Maybe I am," he lied, raising his chin. Sebastian pulled him down the hall, his fingers cutting into his elbow. "Cut it out, Sebastian. I don't play rough."

"Yes, but I don't mind," Sebastian said. He pushed Blaine up against the wall, pinning him by his shoulders, and eyed him up and down. "You still think about me, don't you?"

The back of Blaine's neck flushed red. "Fooling around with you isn't the same as dating you," he retorted. "And I don't want to be your fuck buddy. I want to be someone's boyfriend."

"Oh, and you'll think you'll get it with your little dancer boy toy?" Sebastian sneered. "What does he see in you, huh? You're nothing but a poor little rich kid that he can suck dry until he's through with you."

Blaine shoved Sebastian back. "Don't talk about him that way!" he shouted. "Kurt's not like that! He's never been like that!"

He didn't realize his mistake until he saw the flickering spark in Sebastian's eyes. "Kurt, hm?" he said. "Who's Kurt?"

Blaine darted away, pushing Sebastian out of his way and running down the hall. The other Warblers filed past, milling with other Dalton students leaving their extracurriculars, and he darted down the broad stone steps, his breath catching in his throat.

"Blaine? Hey, Blaine!"

He froze, his shining black dress shoes catching on the corner of a step and scuffing across the toe. Nick stood at the top of the stairs, smiling uncertainly. "This guy's been looking for you," he said.

Blaine squinted. The boy was nondescript enough- tall and lanky, his brown hair unkempt, and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his red letterman's jacket. But his eyes were unsure and earnest, and with a start Blaine recognized him.

"You're from McKinley," he said, stepping hesitantly towards him. "You're friends with-"

"Yeah," the boy said. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and held out his hand like an afterthought. "I'm Finn Hudson."

"Blaine Anderson," he said, shaking his hand cautiously.

Finn immediately stuck his hand back in his pocket. "Listen, man, can we…can we talk?" he asked. "I know this is weird, but it's about-"

"Yes," Blaine cut in. "Yes, um…there's a coffee shop close by here. The Lima Bean. It's on northeast Flagg, could you-"

"Yeah, I'll meet you there," Finn said. He turned on his heel and jogged towards an old nearly broken down station wagon.

"Blaine?" Nick ventured. "Who's your friend?"

"Just a friend," Blaine lied, and he headed towards his red jeep with his heart beating faster and faster with every step.

He drove the short distance to the coffee shop- their coffee shop, his and Padgett's (_Kurt's)_- but he hadn't seen Kurt there in weeks, no matter how often he loitered around anxiously, trying to see if he would show.

Finn pulled into the parking lot shortly after him and followed him inside without a word. They stood in line and ordered tersely- a medium drip for Blaine, a hot chocolate for Finn- and waited for their drinks in silence. Drinks in hand, they crossed to a small table in the corner, Finn following him without a word, and sat down.

Blaine dumped a packet of sugar, stirred it with vibrating hands, snapped the lid back on. "So," he said.

Finn stared at his untouched hot chocolate and exhaled slowly. "So," he echoed.

Blaine fiddled with the lid of his coffee. "So…Kurt," he said. "How….how do you know him?"

"He was almost my brother," Finn said, still staring at his hot chocolate. "And then…well, everything happened."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked.

Finn took a deep breath, tapping the pads of his fingers relentlessly on the sides of the hot cup in a jagged rhythm. "Kurt and I went to the same school, okay?" he said. "We're both in glee club, at least we were until…well. Um." His fingers moved to the lid, still tapping frenetically. Blaine resisted the urge to grab his wrist and make him be still. "His dad died, a couple months ago, and he hasn't been the same since."

"Most people grieve when someone they love dies," Blaine said, a little more sharply than he intended. His stomach roiled unpleasantly. He knew that Kurt's father had died, but that was different. It was different to hear about a mature, grown twenty-something losing their father than to know that a sixteen-year-old kid had lost their dad.

"This isn't normal grieving," Finn said to his cup. "I mean, not that grieving is normal, but…something's going on. He moved in with his aunt, and it's just…we don't see him anymore. He dropped out of glee, he sleeps through all his classes, he looks like he's gone through hell and back…" He dropped his hands on the table; a little bit of his drink splashed onto the lid, hot and bubbly. "There's something wrong with him, and he won't tell us what it is."

"So…why are you asking me about it?" Blaine asked.

Finn looked up, and the hopelessness in his eyes made Blaine's throat ache. "Because when he saw you, back at regionals…that was more emotion than we've seen from him in months," he said. "He took one look at you and it was like he couldn't decide if he wanted to run away or run right to you. You've got…some kind of hold on him. Something that none of us have." He leaned forward. "How do you know him, huh? What do you know?"

Blaine curled his fingers, his knuckles tightening. "We've…gotten coffee together," he said. "We…kept running into each other, and we've gone out for coffee a couple of times, and…that's all."

Finn leaned closer, his broad shoulders tensing. "Why didn't you know he was sixteen?" he asked.

"He told me he was twenty-one," Blaine whispered.

Finn slammed his fist down on the table. "Why?" he demanded. "Why did he do that? Why did he lie to you about it? Did you even know about his dad?"

"He told me," Blaine said, shrinking back.

Finn rummaged frantically in his pocket and pulled out a stack of dog-eared photographs held together with a rubber band. "What about this?" he asked. He yanked the first picture out and threw it at Blaine. "What about it, huh?"

Blaine stared at the photo without touching it. A little boy, perhaps four years old, sat on a swing and smiled broadly at the camera, his light brown hair tousled and his blue eyes bright. A pretty young woman stood behind him with her arms around his waist, her lips pressed to his bright hair. "I don't…I don't understand," he stammered.

"His mom died when he was eight," Finn snapped. He pulled out another photograph; Kurt- it was unmistakably Kurt- sat beside his dad on a couch, his smile held in place with silver braces and his nose sprinkled with freckles. "That's his dad. They were all they had. He raised Kurt by himself."

Blaine shrank back as Finn pulled out several photos at once, bedraggled bits of tape still clinging to the corners. Photo after photo, all recent, showing Kurt with friends, with his dad, just him, young and healthy and smiling and clearly happy. "That's him," Finn said desperately. That's Kurt. Our Kurt."

"I don't know why you're showing me this," Blaine said, shoving the pictures back. "You're freaking me out."

Finn reached into the back pocket of his jeans, fumbling for a tattered leather wallet, and pulled out one last photo. This one was dog-eared and creased down the center, obviously carted around in Finn's wallet for ages.

"His dad was going to marry my mom," Finn said. "Kurt…he was almost my brother."

Blaine stared at the picture without touching it. Kurt and Finn sat side by side on the front steps of a homey-looking house, their shoulders touching as they smiled for the camera. A middle-aged woman with kind eyes sat beside Finn, her hand on his arm, and Kurt's father sat right behind him, with Kurt leaning back against his knee.

"I know Kurt's lying about a lot of things," Finn said in a low voice. "I know he's not living with his aunt. I know he's not okay. But…he won't talk to anyone. He barely even looks at us." He looked down at the photo, his fingers plucking at the peeling edges. "My mom's been freaking out about him, ever since the funeral. She's tried calling him, trying to find where he is…Kurt was almost her kid. She loves him. And it's killing me to watch her fall apart over this."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Blaine whispered.

Finn pulled the photos back in a messy pile, protecting them in the wall of his arms. "Do you know anything?" he asked. "Do you know where we can find him?"

Blaine's stomach turned. "I don't…I don't know where he is right now," he said.

That wasn't a lie. He didn't know.

But he couldn't tell this earnest-eyed boy what was really happening, what Kurt was really hiding. He couldn't.

"I do know he's not okay," Blaine admitted. "It's just…Kurt and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now. I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks."

Finn's shoulders visibly sagged. "Oh," he said. "Oh, well, I…"

"I do have this, though," Blaine said, pulling out his phone. "I've got his phone number. Maybe he changed his number and that's why you can't get ahold of him. Here, look. Is that the same number?"

Finn jabbed at the keys on his phone until Kurt's number appeared in his contact list and held it up beside Blaine's, looking from one screen to the other until his eyes brightened. "They're different numbers," he said. He immediately typed in the new number, his fingers shaking. "Oh my god. Oh my god, thanks."

"You're welcome," Blaine said. He cleared his throat. "Listen, I…I don't know where Kurt is right now, but I do know that he's around this area a lot. Especially near Southbrook."

Finn halted. "That's a really bad part of town," he said blankly.

"I know," Blaine said, shifting uncomfortably. "But that's…that's probably the best place to look for him. I'm sorry I can't help more."

"No, this is awesome," Finn said. "My mom's going to be so excited. You have no idea." He stood up, shoving the pictures, his wallet, and his phone back in his coat pockets. "Thank you so much, dude."

"No problem," Blaine said. "Here…what's your number? I'll text you if I find out anything else."

They exchanged phone numbers, fumbling awkwardly around the spellings of each other's names, and threw their trash away. Outside it was freezing and beginning to drizzle; Finn walked back to his station wagon without saying goodbye, his long legs covering the distance quickly. He was already holding his phone up to his ear, and Blaine wondered if he was already calling his mother to let her know they finally had an idea where Kurt is.

He wondered where he was too.

For a split second he thought about going down to the club. Kurt was performing that night. Maybe he could-

But he remembered the fury in Kurt's hollow eyes, the bitterness in his voice. His mind conjured up images of sitting in the dean's office with his credit card statement printed out for everyone to see, the incriminating charges highlighted in eye-searing yellow, his parents sitting across from him with anger and shame and disappointment in their eyes.

_You need to forget about him, _he told himself. _He doesn't want you around, and you've done all you can do, anyway. Just forget about him. He probably didn't even love you anyway. And you probably don't even love him either. You're in lust with him. In love with the idea of him. Just let him go._

He got into his car, his heart aching dully in his chest, and revved the engine. The heat flickered on, thawing the icy tips of his fingers, and he backed out of his parking space. He didn't want to go back to Dalton, but he didn't have another choice.

He glanced in his rearview mirror, and for a split second he thought he saw Sebastian walking out of the coffee shop, heading towards his BMW, but no, that couldn't have been him.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****OH MY GOD WHAT IS SEBASTIAN UP TO?

BAD THINGS. ALL THE BAD THINGS.

UGH, BLAINE, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL FINN WHAT'S GOING ON?! WHY DIDN'T YOU FIX THINGS?!

Then again, think how pissed Kurt would be if he found out Blaine spilled all of his secrets. If he had, he probably wouldn't have gotten with Finn. He would have flipped out and cussed him out and run away, and never come back home, and things would get a million times worse.

It'll all work out in the end. Hopefully.

No, just kidding, it'll work out. But Kurt has to be in the right place before he can admit he needs help.

I JUST WISH HE'D HURRY UP.


	12. Chapter 12

__Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

_This was a stupid idea, _Kurt thought, his breath catching in his throat as he turned on the brass pole. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time- try an extra-daring, extra-risqué routine, something that'll make the crowd go while and erase any ideas of firing him from his manager's mind.

Of course, what seemed like a good idea in theory was harder in execution. He'd taken his schoolboy striptease further, starting off with more items of clothing to wriggle out of, and then moving from just the dance on the floor to the pole. And the pole routine itself was daring enough- inversions, flips, spins, everything.

But it couldn't make up for the fact that his arms shook too much, or that he couldn't catch his breath.

He finished the routine with a saucy wink and a flourish, struggling to smile. The crowd roared and he strutted offstage. The toe of his boot caught on the step and he stumbled down the narrow stairs, landing hard on his elbow. He winced, pain shooting up his arm, and pulled himself up to stagger down to his makeup table.

The other dancers gave him a wide berth- everyone had since they found out the manager had put him on probation. Beck shot him a searching glance, but he didn't say anything to him.

Kurt sank down at his makeup table and dropped his head in his hands. He couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. But he didn't know what else to do. He needed to make more money, and quickly.

He glanced over at Beck from under his lashes. The older man had begrudgingly agreed to put Kurt on his networks, let his clients know that there was a new boy available. So far, no takers. Kurt's stomach roiled unpleasantly at the thought of sleeping with a stranger, but the money would be worth it. He was sure of it. It had to be.

He changed into his angel costume for what felt like the millionth time and filed onstage for the final number. The manager stood in the back of the club, arms folded across his chest. Kurt couldn't tell what he was thinking.

_Please don't fire me, _he thought. _Just please don't fire me._

The show ended with a burst of sleazy music and drunken applause, and while some of the other dancers strutted to the floor to talk to patrons, Kurt darted backstage to change. He layered on his clothes- old thermal tee, a tee shirt, a plaid flannel button up that used to be his father's- but he still felt cold. Clumsily he wrestled into his jeans and shoes, scrubbed the makeup off his face until he was pale and sallow again, and brushed the glitter out of his hair, trying to mash it back down.

"Hey, Padgett, there's a kid waiting for you. The one in the prep school jacket."

Kurt froze.

_Blaine. Oh my god. Blaine._

"Is…is he still out there?" he rasped, his voice hollow and unrecognizable in his own ears.

"No, he left already, but he told me to tell you that if you wanted to see him, he'd be at the coffee shop."

_Blaine came back for me._

"Okay," Kurt said. "Um…thanks. Thank you."

He snatched up his belongings and ran for the back door, his heart beating an unsteady rhythm in the hollow of his chest. For so long he'd thought about it, mulled it over in his head. _If Blaine ever came back, what would he do?_

He never thought about going back to Blaine. Oh, no. He didn't need Blaine. He wasn't about to control Blaine, tell him what to do, lord it over him. But if Blaine came back, of his own choice, then maybe…

Kurt jogged out to his car in the parking lot and climbed in, nearly losing his balance. He drove the short distance to the coffee shop without bothering to turn on music, his mind racing a mile a minute. He didn't know why he was so excited. He shouldn't be this excited. And yet…he was.

He pushed the coffee shop doors open with his shoulder, the bells above his head jangling as he dropped his car keys in his pocket. For a moment he glanced around eagerly, searching for the familiar sight of warm hazel eyes and a sweet smile.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "I think you're looking for me," a voice purred.

Kurt whipped around. He recognize the Dalton blazer immediately, but his eyes traveled up and his heart sank to his shoes. "I'm sorry, it's just…I thought-"

"You were expecting Blaine?" The young man tilted his head to the side, slim lips curving in a slight smile. "No, I'm afraid he doesn't have any plans to come back."

Kurt hid a cough behind his hand, trying to place the stranger's face. "You're friends with him, though," he said. "You're a friend of his. You bought a lap dance for him."

A flicker crossed the young man's eyes for a brief second. "I did," he said, his voice as even and genial as ever. He took Kurt by his sore elbow gently, his long thin fingers curving around his arm. "Could I buy you a coffee? You look like you're freezing."

Kurt squared his shoulders, trying to pull the tattered remains of his persona back together. "I'm fine," he said, lofty as ever, his chin held high. "Thanks for the offer, though. It's adorable that you-"

The stranger had already leaned towards the cashier, rapping his knuckles on the polished counter. "Excuse me? Hi, we'd like to order," he said. "I'd like a grande café americano, no extra sugar, no whip, extra espresso, and he'll have a grande decaf mocha macchiato, no whip, extra vanilla." Kurt recoiled as the young man smiled at him. "Forgive me for ordering for you, but I think you'll like it."

The cashier hid a yawn as she printed out their receipt. "Name?" she asked, almost lazily.

"Sebastian."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "What kind of name is Sebastian?" he asked.

"A saint's, actually," Sebastian said, guiding him over to the corner to wait. "My mother's Catholic, grew up in Paris, thought it was a lovely name. And how did your parents choose the name Kurt, I suppose?"

"My mother-" Kurt started to say, but he froze. Bile rose in his throat. "I-"

Sebastian smiled again, but the sweetness was gone.

"Sebastian?" the barista called, holding up two drinks.

Sebastian took them and turned his smile back on Kurt, the wattage white and bright. "Let's find a seat, shall we?" he said. "This'll do."

He pressed the hot cup into Kurt's numb fingers. "I have to go," he said numbly.

"Nonsense," Sebastian said. He sat down at the same table where he and Blaine used to meet, in the chair that Blaine always picked, and folded his hands on the table. "Where are you going to go, darling? Especially when I've been so nice as to buy you coffee."

Kurt shuffled mechanically towards him, his stomach aching. The cup of boiling hot coffee threatened to slip from his slack fingers. He sank down in the seat, his hands shaking.

Sebastian glanced up and smiled at him. "Now, you don't have to look at me like a child trapped in a lion's den," he said. He chucked Kurt lightly under the chin. "I just want to have a little chat with you, that's all."

"What do you want to talk about?" Kurt asked in a low voice.

"I'll talk if you drink some of your coffee," Sebastian said. Kurt obeyed reluctantly, taking the tiniest sip imaginable of the boiling hot drink. "Now, as I'm sure you've realized, I know."

"Know what?" Kurt said.

"Everything." Sebastian smiled easily at him, a slow bright wolfish grin. "I know your name is Kurt Hummel. I know you're just sixteen years old. I know you're desperate for money."

Kurt's blood ran cold. He pushed the coffee away, too nauseated to take another drink. "What do you want with me?" he demanded, his voice rising to a high-pitched crack.

Sebastian clicked his tongue lightly and placed his hand on top of Kurt's. His hands were smooth and cool, and Kurt's fingers burned under his touch. "Don't be like that, darling," he said.

"I'm not your darling," Kurt said through his teeth, unable to pull his hand away.

"I have an offer for you," Sebastian said, ignoring him serenely.

"I don't make deals with people like you," Kurt shot back. He wanted to stand up, but a horrible, desperate little part of him wanted to stay.

"I'll give you a thousand dollars."

Kurt started. "You…what?" he choked.

Sebastian smiled as he stroked Kurt's hand. "You heard me," he said. "A thousand dollars. All yours. And more where that came from."

"But…I don't understand," Kurt said. He sat up straighter, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. "What do you want? There's no way you're just giving me money."

Sebastian kept stroking Kurt's hand, his thumb moving gently over his skin. He was still smiling, but it seemed too bright, too sharp. "I'll pay you a thousand dollars to sleep with me," he said.

The room started spinning.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Sebastian said, his fingertips tracing Kurt's knuckles. "I heard it through the grapevine that you're looking to start. And what better way to start than with me." He leaned closer, cupping Kurt's hand in both of his. "I'm very good."

"I…I…no," Kurt stammered. His heart leaped in his throat and he jerked away, nearly knocking his coffee over. "No, no, I can't. I…I can't."

He got up, tripping over his own shoes, and stumbled for the door, leaning heavily on the bar until it opened. Sebastian followed him, his steps steady and measured. "You can't what?" he called. "I know, Kurt. I know everything."

Kurt spun around, the cold biting at the bare skin of his wrists and neck. "How?" he accused.

Sebastian smiled. "I have my ways," he said. He took another step towards him, backing him into a signpost at the curb. The metal cut into Kurt's back. "I know you don't have another choice. I know you're looking to sell yourself. And I know there are very few clients you could get who are better than me." His smile looked more like a grimace, his teeth bared and the streetlights casting shadows across his face. "There are a lot of worse ways to lose your virginity. And if I wanted, I could make it happen."

Kurt bit back a whimper as Sebastian leaned in and kissed him, his long hands cupping his cheeks. His lips were thin; his mouth tasted acid-sweet. He didn't respond to the kiss, but he couldn't fight it either.

Sebastian pulled away from him with a final nip at his lips. "I'll let you know what our plans are," he said. He cupped Kurt's chin in his hand. "And if you're as good in bed as I hope you are, this won't be the last time."

He walked away with his hands in his pockets. Kurt slid to the ground, uncaring of the cold dirty slush seeping into the fabric of his pants. He sat there for a long time, staring blankly at the shadowed brick wall in front of him, until he had lost all feeling in his fingers and toes and the lights went out inside the coffee shop.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****UGH SEBSTIAN FUCK YOU, YOU SMUG-FACED LITTLE MEERKAT BASTARD. YOU SMELL LIKE CRAIGLIST AND OVERPRICED COLOGNE. YOU'RE TACKY AND I HATE YOU.

I hate sebastian so much and I hate writing him, but he makes for such a deliciously evil villain.

There's only three chapters and an epilogue left! And I promise you'll be glad you stuck through all the angst till the end. it's going to be worth it. I swear. I AM INCAPABLE OF UNHAPPY ENDINGS but I am quite capable of making you suffer till you get there.

In other news, I have a beautiful playlist for this story and I really ought to post it somewhere. Any thoughts?


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine poked at the limp piece of chicken on his plate, his chin resting on his hand. His father cleared his throat. "Well, I'm glad you kids were able to come out to dinner with me," he said. "Cooper, I'm glad you let us know that you were in town."

"Thanks for taking us out," Cooper said, offering a dazzling movie-star smile. Francey rolled her eyes. "Too bad Lilah couldn't come."

Blaine stabbed at his chicken. It wasn't that his mother couldn't come- it was that she didn't want to come. And it wasn't that she didn't hate her stepson or anything, it was just that being around Cooper kept reminding her that her husband had been married before, that he had once loved another woman before she came along. It made her panicky and jumpy, like a frightened rabbit. And that made his father uncomfortable, which made him pushier and more forceful than ever, trying to smooth things over. It just made everyone miserable. No wonder Cooper didn't visit much.

"I'd better get going," Jack Anderson said, checking his watch. "I've got a big presentation for tomorrow, have to get things ready." He slid out of the booth, already reaching for his coat. "Cooper, let me know the next time you're in town, all right? Frances, Blaine, I'll see you at the house."

Francey waved her fork in lieu of a goodbye. "Bye, Daddy," she said.

"Bye, Dad," Blaine mumbled.

Jack reached into his wallet and pulled out a handful of bills. "Here, honey, use this to cover the meal," he said, handing it to Francey. "I'll see you later, all right? Drive home safe."

Blaine reluctantly slid his fork into his mashed potatoes, offering a limp wave goodbye as his father left, disappearing out of the restaurant.

"All right, Blaine, now that Dad's gone, spill," Francey ordered.

He jumped, dropping his fork with a clatter. "You scared me," he accused, brushing mashed potatoes off the front of his shirt.

Francey leaned her cheek in her hand. "You've been sulking all night," she said. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sulking," Blaine muttered.

"Oh, yes, you are," Cooper said. "Usually you're all a-flutter about school and your lacrosse team and the Mumblers-"

"The Warblers," Blaine corrected, rolling his eyes.

"-just talking and talking and talking while you try to make Daddy love you," Cooper continued glibly. "What's going on?"

""Nothing," Blaine said, throwing his fork down.

Francey shook her heard. "Something's got you tweaked," she warned. "Either spill, or I'll start hacking your Facebook."

"It's nothing," Blaine said. "Leave me alone."

"Fine," Francey shot back. "Be that way. I'm going to order dessert."

"I think I'll have champagne," Cooper declared, reaching for the wine list.

Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket. He dug it out and bit back an exasperated huff. Sebastian had been pestering him all night.

**6:04pm**

_Miss me?_

**6:58pm**

_I bet u miss me but u dont want to admit it._

**7:13pm**

_I said u would miss me._

**7:28pm**

_I told u id make u regret it._

**7:41pm**

_I wasnt kidding blaine. U r going to regret it._

He dropped his phone in disgust. "All right, something is bothering me," he snapped.

"Finally," Francey sighed. "What's going on, Babbie?"

He leaned back, running his hand through his hair. "There's a guy," he confessed. "A guy that…I think I might…be in love with."

Francey and Cooper exchanged a look. "Really?" Cooper said. "It's not that Sebastian guy you were dating for a while, right?"

"Please don't say you love him, he's a douchebag," Francey sighed.

"No, no, it's not him," Blaine said. He ran his hand over his mouth. "It's another boy. He doesn't go to Dalton, we met at…at a…party. But I screwed things up."

"How?" Cooper pressed.

"I don't want to get into it," Blaine said. "I just…I fell in love with this boy, and now…I messed it up. And I think he's in trouble."

"If you love him, shouldn't you try to help him?" Francey said.

"It's…it's more complicated than that," Blaine said.

The waitress came by with Francey's dessert and Cooper's drink; Blaine's phone vibrated again and he glanced down at the screen.

**8:01pm**

_never guess where i am._

He shoved it aside, but it buzzed again.

**8:02pm**

_never guess who my date is._

Blaine leaned forward heavily on his elbows and pressed his hands to his temples. "I think I'm in trouble," he said dully.

Francey took a bite of her cake. "We can't help you if we don't know what's wrong," she said.

So he told them. He told them everything. They listened quietly as he spilled the whole story, his eyes trained on his half-empty plate. His phone buzzed a few more times, but he ignored it.

"Well," Cooper said at last, draining his glass dry. "I can see why you're upset."

"What are you going to do about Kurt?" Francey asked, lacing her fingers together.

"I don't know," Blaine said. He rested his chin in his hand. "I don't think there's anything I can do. He doesn't…he doesn't want me around."

"What if he needs you?" Cooper asked, tilting his head.

"It sounds like he's in trouble," Francey said softly.

"I don't-" Blaine started to say, but his phone buzzed, and he glanced down without thinking about it.

A picture flashed across the screen. He grabbed at it, his stomach tangling in uncomfortable knots.

**8:37pm**

_told u. u would regret it._

His blood ran cold as he stared at the photo, his hands shaking slightly. Sebastian grinned at him, his shirt loose and unbuttoned around his throat, his cheeks flushed with alcohol. He leaned back in a worn velvet booth, and one arm was tight around the waist of the boy sitting on his lap.

It was Kurt. Kurt was perched on Sebastian's knee, one leg crossed coquettishly over the other. He was dressed in another scanty outfit, boots laced up to his knees and his maroon satin spankies clinging to the curve of his butt.

But he was thin- so thin. His collarbone was sharp, his ribs carving ridges and valleys on his sides. He was deathly white, his lips pale pink and his cheeks splotched in red. And his eyes…his beautiful blue eyes were nearly colorless, wide and reflective like a deer's in headlights.

And suddenly it clicked. He could see it all- the way Sebastian's hand clutched like a claw on Kurt's thin side, the stark whiteness of Kurt's knuckles as he struggled to stay upright and away from Sebastian, the terror and resignation and sadness in his expression.

"Blaine? Blaine, what's wrong?"

The screen dimmed and he wrapped his fingers around the phone. "I have to go," he said hollowly. "I..I have to find Kurt."

His sister didn't even bat an eye as she handed him his coat. "Do you have your car keys?" she asked. He nodded, pulling them out of his pocket and sliding into his coat.

"Take this," Cooper said, handing him the cash their father had given them. "Fran and I can cover it."

"Let us know how it goes, okay?" Francey said. She squeezed his hand. "Good luck."

He nodded, gripping the phone in one hand and his keys in the other, and he raced outside in the cold faint rain, his heart pounding with every step.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEING PATIENT WITH ME.

I got so stuck on this chapter. Originally, Sebastian wasn't going to appear in the last half of the story, after he broke up with Blaine, but the idea struck me and I had to work it in. It raises the stakes, you know? But that meant I had to retool the last half of the story, and I couldn't figure out what could possibly motivate Blaine to change his mind and go after Kurt.

And finally, after a lot of help from sweet friends on Tumblr, it fell into place like this. And I think it works, especially sine you get a glimpse inside Blaine's uncomfortable WASP-y home life. And also there is Cooper and Francey, which makes everything better.

Also, Cooper gives everyone nicknames. Blaine is "squirt" or "Blainers" (YAY ADORABLE CANON) and he calls Francey "Fran." And the whole family calls the two younger Andersons Babbie and Baby. I love headcanons.

I should be able to post the next chapter on Monday- the scene has been in my head since I first started plotting this story. It's going to be pretty dire. And shall end on a cliffhanger.

BUT GUESS WHAT?! THERE'S ONLY LIKE...TWO OR THREE CHAPTERS LEFT NOW. YAY!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

"No Light" belongs to Florence + the Machine, and I highly recommend you listen to it while reading this chapter.

* * *

Kurt shifted uncomfortably on Sebastian's lap, trying to maintain his smile. His mouth felt frozen. Sebastian squeezed tightly on his hip as he laughed at something the waitress said. He was gripping too hard and it was starting to hurt.

"Don't you think that's funny, Padgett?" Sebastian asked, squeezing his hip.

Kurt started and said something in reply, something bright and brash and witty that made them laugh, but his chest ached. He couldn't breathe. Soon he'd be onstage performing. In a few hours, he'd be in Sebastian's bed.

_Think of the money, _he consoled himself. _Think of how much easier things will be when you get to New York._

Sebastian palmed at his inner thigh, kneading at his soft fragile skin. Kurt forced himself to smile at him, the sweet and nearly bashful one. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

Suddenly a bit of memory flashed in his mind- smiling at Blaine from across their usual table at the coffee shop, gazing at him from beneath his lashes, and watching the way his eyes lit up, the way a warm blush spread across his cheeks.

_He loved you_, a wicked voice taunted him. _He loved you and you lost him._

He pushed the thought away and laughed at something that Sebastian said, the sound high and strangled. Sebastian took a long drink of his martini and swirled the clouded liquid around the glass. "Mm, I hope you're looking forward to tonight," he said, rubbing greedily at Kurt's thigh.

"I can't wait," Kurt said lightly, and a smug smirk spread across Sebastian's face. He leaned in to kiss hungrily at Kurt's neck, sucking and biting at his tender skin.

"I'm very good," he murmured between kisses. "You're very lucky, you know. You're lucky that you're mine now."

Kurt pushed back on Sebastian's shoulder and slid off his knees, his heart thudding a staccato beat in his chest. "I'd better go get ready," he said. "I've got a hot new number tonight, just for you."

"I can't wait to see it," Sebastian said, looking him up and down, his eyes gleaming. He slapped Kurt across the ass. "Give me a taste of what I'm getting tonight."

He should have reacted- winked, laughed, said something deliciously naughty in return- but he couldn't. He ran instead. He fled, disappearing through the crowd, daring past tables and tipsy patrons.

_I can't, I can't. I want to go home. I just want to go home._

But there was no home. There was no hope. There was no one to save him.

He bumped into a patron, shoulder brushing shoulder, and the man's hand reached out and brushed the length of his arm, his fingers tangling with his fingers for a brief second until the crowd surged around them.

Kurt glanced back over his shoulder and froze.

It was Blaine.

Blaine stood right there in the middle of the club, his coat unbuttoned, his hair rumpled, tall and strong and solid and _there. _

"Padgett, c'mon, you're gonna be late."

The stage manager grabbed onto his upper arm and yanked him backwards. "Wait, please, wait a second-" Kurt started to say, but the stage manager pulled him back and dragged him backstage.

"You're on thin ice already, Price, don't push it," the stage manager said, pushing him down at his makeup station. "You're on in ten."

Kurt took a shuddering breath, staring at his reflection in the mirror- the sallowness of his skin, the hollows of his cheeks, the dark bruised circles around his eyes. "Wait," he said suddenly. "Wait, I…I want to change my number."

"You can't do this, Price," the stage manager warned.

Kurt closed his eyes. "I don't want to do the Britney Spears number," he said. "I want to do the other one. The one I was working on last night, after we closed."

"Are you sure?"

Kurt nodded. "Please," he said. "I want to do that one instead."

The stage manager cursed under his breath and stormed away. Kurt flipped open his makeup case and pulled out his brushes. The worse of the damage began to fade away. Concealer made the bruises under his eyes dissipate, foundation smoothed out the pallor of his skin. He lined his eyes carefully in dark smudged lines, brushed on deep soft shadows, twirled on a thick layer of mascara until his eyelashes curled upwards, silky and sooty. The lips he saved for last, painting a soft rich shade till his lips looked plush and kissable.

He sat back and regarded himself solemnly. It wasn't his usual look- no glitter, no scarlet lip gloss, no shocking colors. He looked more like himself than he had in a long time, but…a better version of himself, more beautiful, closer to perfect. But no amount of makeup could chase the haunted, hunted look out of his eyes.

"Padgett, one minute till show."

He grabbed the last pieces of his costume, a black slim-fitting vest and the gold halo circlet from his angel costume. After a brief, heart-skipping hesitation he ripped off his boots. He didn't want to go out in a costume. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted to be himself.

"Thirty seconds till show."

He gor up from his station and stumbled towards the stage. His throat felt tight, his chest was squeezed shut, but he had to do this. He had to do this or he would die.

The emcee was announcing him; he could hear the audience cheering and catcalling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd performed onstage so many times, thousands of times, and this was going to be the scariest performance of his young life.

He stepped onto the stage, the music beginning to pulse behind him and the lights shining in his eyes. It was almost too hard to see, but he could see just enough. Blaine was there, sitting in the back of the house, in the very middle by the sound booth, all by himself. He was watching him, his eyes trained on him.

Kurt took a deep breath, the sound echoing like a gunshot in his head. He clasped his hands together in front of his heart like a child in prayer, and softly he began to sing.

"You are the hole in my head, you are the space in my head…you are the silence in between what I thought and what I said."

He could still hear voices, hear the murmuring of the audience waiting for him to do something interesting. He closed his eyes tightly.

"You are the nighttime fear, you are the morning when it's clear…when it's over, you will start. You're my head. You're my heart."

An uneasy hush settled over the club. This wasn't his usual performance. This wasn't teasing and seductive and enticing. This wasn't even Padgett Price onstage. This was him. For the first time in months, it was just _him._

The drumbeat struck behind him, hard and fast and syncopated, and he opened his eyes.

"No light, no light in my bright blue eyes- who knew daylight could be so violent? A revelation in the light of day, you can't choose what stays and what fades away."

There wasn't a set dance for this number, no pre-planned choreography or strategic moves. He just danced, quick and fluid and graceful. He wished he could see if Blaine was watching him. If he was still there.

"And I'll do anything to make you stay…tell me what you want me to say."

His chest seized up as he took a tight turn, his breath catching in his throat. _You can do this, _he told himself. _Just get through it. Keep going._

"Through the crowd eyes crying out at me, in your place there were a thousand other faces. I was disappearing in plain sight…heaven help me, I need to make it right."

He tried to catch his breath between words, but the air came out as a slight wheeze. All he could do was sing, his voice high and marvelously clear.

"You want a revelation, you want to get it right, but that's a conversation I just can't have tonight. You want a revelation, some kind of resolution."

The audience had fallen into a hush. He could sense them staring at him. But he couldn't find Blaine. He didn't know where he was. All he could see was Sebastian lounging in the booth, whispering in the ear of the dancer beside him. He wasn't even paying attention.

He glided to the edge of the stage, his bare feet light and silent on the scraped, dirty floor. He could see things more clearly now- the smoke, the seediness, the tattered velvet on the chairs, the grimness of the men leering at him- and he hated it. He hated himself.

But Blaine was still there, standing in the back by the sound booth, his beautiful eyes alight and his lips slightly parted, gazing at him.

Kurt swallowed hard, his hands clenching in shaking fists over his heart, his whole body trembling.

"Would you leave me if I told you what I've done? And would you leave me if I told you what I've become?"

His knees felt weak; his throat was raw and stinging. He felt hot and cold all over, shivers running up and down his spine.

"'Cause it's so easy to say it to a crowd, but it's so hard, my love, to say it to you out loud."

He struck the last note, high and clarion-clear, his body arching in a fluid, graceful arc. It hurt, it hurt badly, but he pushed past the pain in his chest and sang anyway, his blood pumping hot and loud in his ears.

"You want a revelation, you want to get it right, but that's a conversation I just can't have tonight. You want a revelation, some kind of resolution…tell me what you want me to say."

His voice wavered on the last note, and as the audience began to applaud, his knees buckled and he slammed down hard on the stage floor. He gasped for breath and swallowed down a cough, choking hard.

They were still catcalling when he stumbled to his feet and struggled blindly off the stage. He tripped down the stairs, coughing hard, and fell hard at his makeup station. The music for the next number pounded hard from the stage and he cupped his hands around his mouth, coughing so hard that his stomach began to hurt.

Suddenly something wet spilled from his lips and dripped into his palms. Horrified, he lifted his shaking hands and caught sight of the dark red blood pooling on his white skin.

Kurt whined through his teeth, the taste of blood hot and heavy in his mouth. He grabbed for his makeup wipes and scrubbed at his hands and mouth, trying to erase the blood.

_I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm okay, I'm just-_

He choked hard and hunched down in a little ball, knuckling at his stinging eyes like a child.

_I want to go home, _he thought miserably. _I want to go home. I want my mom. I want my dad._

Footsteps echoed on the stairs behind him and he jerked upright, throwing away the bloody cloth and trying to look unaffected. It was probably just another dancer getting ready for a show.

"Mm, there you are."

Kurt's spine stiffened. Sebastian walked over to him, his lips turning up in a wicked half smile, and draped his arms around his shoulders. "That was hot," he purred, kissing a slow sloppy line up the curve of his neck. "That was so hot. Are you ready to go, 'cause I'm ready."

Panic shot through Kurt's chest. "But the show's not done," he blurted out, his voice faint and raspy. "I still have the-"

"Paid off your manager to let you go early," Sebastian said, biting at the narrow swell of his shoulder. "Come on, let's go. I'm taking you out for dinner before we go do it." Kurt sat up very straight and very still, trying to avoid his own reflection- his wide frightened eyes, the splotched flush on his pale cheeks, the hint of blood still lingering on his lips. "I got us a suite at a hotel downtown. It's gorgeous. You'll love it."

He leaned in, taking Kurt's jaw in his hand, but Kurt pulled away with just the faintest brush of Sebastian's hungry mouth against his trembling lips. "Let me change first," he said. "I…I don't want to go out in my costume."

"Aw, but it's so sexy," Sebastian said, running his hand lightly over Kurt's bare chest. He stopped himself from shivering just in time. "Just do it fast, okay? I'm starving."

He ran his hand down Kurt's back and over the curve of his ass, squeezing hard. Kurt stared down at the scratched and scarred surface of the makeup table. "I don't…I don't want to leave yet," he said, but Sebastian had already left, disappearing through the backstage door to the street.

Kurt dropped his cheek to his hand, his shoulders sagging in exhaustion. If only he could stay just a little longer…just long enough to find Blaine…

But it didn't matter. Blaine didn't come back for him. There was no way. Blaine didn't want him. Blaine couldn't want him, not like this.

_Think of the money, _he reminded himself dully. _Just think of the money._

He changed clumsily into a white button-up shirt and his most decent pair of jeans. It was cool outside, but not cold enough to merit his winter coat. He didn't have anything lighter than that, but that would be okay. He would be fine.

He slid his feet into his shoes and picked up his phone. It beeped cheerfully at him, the voicemail light blinking, but there wasn't time to check it. He dropped it in the back pocket of his jeans and trudged out to meet Sebastian.

A sleek dark sports car was idling at the curb; Sebastian rolled down the window and gestured at him. "Over here," he called. Kurt walked over to him and slid into the front seat, his fingers fumbling at the buckle. "Like the car? There are some distinct perks to being a trust fund baby."

"It's lovely," Kurt said, sinking back in the seat.

Sebastian fiddled with the heat and the radio, yammering on about his car, and Kurt leaned his forehead against the cool windowpane. The car eased out of the club's parking lot and down the street. Light rain fell softly and he shivered as he watched it pool in glossy puddle on the dark sidewalks.

"Hey, don't look like that," Sebastian said, squeezing his hand around Kurt's thigh. "Aren't you looking forward to tonight?"

Kurt smiled. "Of course," he said in a soft low voice. He reached over and ran his fingertips along Sebastian's arm. "Why wouldn't I?"

Sebastian grinned at him, sharp and wolfish, and changed the topic of conversation. Kurt tried to respond, laughing and smiling and adding just the right comment at just the right time, but his heart wasn't it. He didn't even feel like he was there at all. It was like he was drifting along, watching someone else chat and flirt and smile. He didn't feel anything. He couldn't feel anything.

Sebastian parked outside a small diner near downtown and ushered him inside, his hand pressed to the small of Kurt's back. Inside it was quiet and dimly lit; no one seemed to notice them. A waitress ushered them to a booth in the back; Sebastian ordered for both of them and settled back against the seat. He kept talking, a steady stream of inane conversation, until another man walked over, a little older than Sebastian, and as they started chatting Kurt felt himself slipping away.

He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to go through with it. But there was nothing he could do. There wasn't another option. If he didn't go through with it, he'd have to try to pull himself through working at the club until he graduated from school. But if he slept with Sebastian, if he gave in, then maybe things would be all right. He'd have money. He could have more to eat, a better place to sleep, clothes that kept him warm.

"Kurt, what's wrong with you?"

He looked up dully. Sebastian frowned at him. "Your nose is bleeding," he said. "That's disgusting. Go get cleaned up."

"'m sorry," Kurt mumbled, cupping his hand over his nose. He slipped out of the booth and stumbled towards the bathroom. A waitress nearly knocked into him and he dodged just in time, coughing into his wrist as he nudged the bathroom door open with his shoulder.

Blood trickled sluggishly down his chin, dripping on his white shirt. He reached for a wad of paper towels and pressed it to his nose, trying to slow the bleeding. His head spun; he leaned his elbows heavily on the bathroom sink, squinting in the bright fluorescent lights. It felt like he was dying.

His phone buzzed in his pocket again, pestering him about his voicemail, and he wrestled it out of his pocket. He tapped in the code and held it up to his ear, still blotting at his bloody nose with the crumpled paper towel.

"You have one saved message. First saved message:"

He turned the stiff brown paper around to a clean spot, trying to soak up as much blood as he could.

"Kurt…hi, sweetheart."

The paper towel slipped from his fingers and hit the tile floor.

"This is Carole."

He covered his mouth with his hand, staring down at the empty sink.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for months. I didn't know you changed your number. Finn found it, though, somehow, and…well, honey, I don't even know what to say. I'm just…I'm so worried about you, Kurt."

He heard her exhale slowly, the sound like gunfire in his ear.

"I know you miss your dad. I know…that things must be tough. But please, sweetheart, if there's anything that Finn or I can do…please let us know. We want to help, but we can't do anything if you keep telling everyone that nothing's wrong. We all love you…we love you so, so much."

He sank down, his back sliding against the wall, and sat down hard on the floor, his legs giving way beneath him. Blood was drying on his chin and he swiped it away with the back of his arm.

"Come home, Kurt. Please…come home."

He covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders beginning to shake. The phone slipped from his fingers and the dial tone echoed in the silence.

"Message deleted."

He grabbed at it hastily, his fingers clumsy, and it felt like fire in his hand. His stomach twisted, and before he could change his mind, he ran.

He darted out of the bathroom, his shoes skidding on the floor, and ran out of the diner, shoving the door open as the ridiculous bells chimed overhead.

"Hey!" he heard Sebastian shout. "Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He ran faster, the air in his lungs already ripping out of his chest in aching heaves. It was raining faster, pelting his face, his hair, his clothes, but he welcomed the cold, he welcomed the wet. His heart pounded so hard that it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest.

He didn't dare look back to see if Sebastian was following. Instead he tried to run faster. His shoe caught on a rock and ripped along the side; his phone tumbled out of his pocket and clattered somewhere behind him. There wasn't time to go back for it.

His foot caught on a curb and he fell hard, scraping his palms and his knees on the rough wet cement. He struggled to his feet, coughing hard, and limped over to a broken-down phone booth on the corner. With shaking fingers he dug around in his pockets and dropped a handful of wet cold coins into the slot.

The dial tone echoed cheerfully in his ear and he punched in the numbers with trembling fingers. It rang once, then twice, then-

"Hello?"

He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath long enough to speak. All he could summon up was to cough out his name in a faint whisper.

"Kurt? Kurt, is that you?"

He nodded before he remembered no one could see him.

"Kurt, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He wrapped his free arm tighter around his waist. His shirt was soaked and sticking to him, cold and wet, and his lungs burned.

"Can you come get me?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****AAAAAAHHHHHH BUT WHO DID HE CALL?!

Oh, this chapter gives me heart palpitations. IT'S JUST SO INTENSE. Also, I hate Sebastian. Can you tell?

I've known since the very beginning that Kurt was going to sing "No Light" as the big turning point. It's such a beautiful, perfect song for that scene. At least I think so. Did it work? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.

ALSO SEBASTIAN IS A SMIRKY SLUTTY MEERKAT WHO SMELLS LIKE CRAIGSLIST AND IS TOTALLY PERVING ON MY POOR SWEET ANGEL BABY AND I AM GOING TO _RIP HIS PAWING EVIL HANDS OFF._

__I don't know where that came from. I think this chapter is just so intense that it's broken me completely.

And guess what?

ONLY ONE CHAPTER TO GO!

Well, one chapter and an epilogue, but yay! I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO FINISH A STORY! IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE!

And after this story is over, I'm going to turn my attention to Goodnight. But first...I need to rescue Kurt. The next chapter will be full of angst and weeping and cuddles and all the hurt/comfort you can imagine. WHICH IS MY FAVORITE. YAY.

But yes! Only one chapter to go! Please tell me what you think of it!

Also, special thanks to Boog, Christina, Margaret, and landoffairytales who all previewed this chapter and gave me a thumbs up- and pointed out all of the typos I made when I got overexcited. I think I caught them all!

If I didn't, I hope you still love me anyways.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

Blaine stared glumly at the rapidly-emptying club. He'd been waiting for Kurt all night. But he wasn't there. He hadn't even performed in the last number. It was like he had vanished.

And he had been hoping so badly to see him, to talk to him. Listening to him sing had been like….like nothing he'd heard before. It was the first time he'd seen him perform and felt like he'd really seen Kurt- not Padgett, but Kurt.

"Honey, we're closing," a waitress said as she passed by. "You can come back tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded, reaching for his coat. His heart sank down to his shoes. This was it. It was over. It didn't matter what he felt, or what he thought Kurt was trying to tell him. Kurt was with Sebastian, and there was no going back.

He slipped his coat over his shoulders and headed out the front doors, dodging a couple kissing sloppily under the awning. His chest ached. Light cool rain drizzled over his head; he didn't feel like pulling his hood on.

Just as he was climbing into the front seat of his car he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He fumbled for it, hitting talk and pressing it up to his ear as he turned his key in the ignition.

"Hello?" he said absently, tucking it under his chin as he started to pull out for the parking space.

All he heard was a faint raspy mumble, but it made his heart skip a beat. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the caller ID on the screen. It was an unlisted number- no clue where it was coming from. But he couldn't deny his gut instinct.

"Kurt?" he breathed. "Kurt, is that you?"

He couldn't hear anything. He threw the gearshift in park and pressed both hands to the phone, holding it tighter to his ear.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" he said, his voice rising. "Are you okay?"

He heard a faint inhale.

"Can you come get me?"

Blaine's heart thudded in his chest. Kurt sounded like a lost child, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Of course," he said. "Of course I can, where are you?"

"I…I can see a street sign," Kurt said, his voice small. "I'm at the corner of Dunbrook and Fourth. I'm at the phone booth in front of the old bike shop, the one with the boarded-up windows."

"Okay," Blaine said, clutching his phone in one hand as he shifted gears and peeled out of the parking lot. "Okay, I think I know where that is. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm…I'm okay, I think, I just…" Kurt took a deep breath. "I want to go home. I need you to take me home."

"Okay," Blaine said. "I'll take you wherever you need to go. Just…are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm-"

The phone call cut off, leaving a blaring dial tone in his ear. Blaine swore, dropping the phone in the cupholder and turning his jeep sharply around the corner. He felt like he was going to be sick. Something was wrong. He'd seen it Kurt's eyes while he was performing, he'd felt it when he'd touched him briefly when they passed in the middle of the club, he could hear it in the childlike tremble of his voice. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.

He only got lost once, taking the wrong turn on a one-way street, but he drove as fast as he could to the vacant bicycle shop, squinting through the dark and the rain as his windshield wipers worked overtime. It was hard to see and harder to concentrate; he switched off the radio and tried to focus on the wet street, searching for the phone booth.

He turned onto the right road and slowed down, searching for Kurt. There was no one there. The booth was empty, the phone dangling on the cord and swinging lazily, and the shopfronts were dark and silent and empty.

He slapped his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "I don't understand," he muttered under his breath. "I just don't-"

"You son of a bitch! I was going to give you everything, and this is what you decide to do?"

The stinging sound of someone getting slapped.

"You're nothing, you hear me? Fucking nothing! I could snap my fingers and get anyone I wanted!"

A soft thud, and then a laugh.

"Really? You're going to fight back? How fucking adorable. I could break you, you know. I could snap you in half and-"

Blaine was out of the car before he realized what he was doing, the keys still in the ignition and the door hanging open. He darted into the alleyway, his shoes skidding on the glossy wet pavement, but he ran anyway.

Kurt was pressed up against the rough brick, a red mark rising on his cheekbone, his blue eyes wild and his teeth bared. Sebastian stood over him, pinning him, his mouth drawn in a leer. "Face it, Kurt Hummel, there's nothing you can do," he said. "You can fight back all you want, honey, but at the end of the day, I'm going to get what I want, and by the time we're done you're going to come crawling back, because you don't have anywhere else to go."

Kurt drew his arm back and punched Sebastian across the jaw, making him stumble back just a little, but Blaine could see him shaking in the dim light from the street lamps. He wasn't strong enough to stand, much less defend himself.

"Kurt!" he shouted. "Sebastian, get your fucking hands away from him!"

Sebastian turned sharply, letting go of Kurt, and Blaine saw red. He struck out, punching Sebastian with all his force square in his solar plexus, and Sebastian fell back, wheezing. "You're not going to win, you bastard," he seethed through his teeth, and kicked him in the ribs. "Don't you dare touch him. Don't you dare come near him!"

"I can fight my own battles," Kurt said, but he was gasping hard for breath and blood was dripping from his nose. "I don't...I don't need..."

His eyes rolled back in his head and he lost his balance, collapsing forward. Blaine caught him in his arms, letting him fall against his chest, and felt Kurt's fingers weakly tangle in the shoulders of his coat. "I've got you," he said. "It's okay, baby, I've got you."

"Are you shitting me, Blaine?" Sebastian grunted as he pushed himself off the ground. Wet dirt was smeared over his clothes and face and he tried to brush it away. "This is seriously what you want? You'd choose a fucking stripper, a fucking homeless kid, over me?"

"I'm not choosing him," Blaine said, raking his fingers through Kurt's wet hair, his arms beginning to prickle as he tried to support his weight. "I already did."

Kurt's breath was light and fluttering against his neck, and it was starting to scare him. Hot blood dripped onto the collar of his shirt, and Kurt was gasping, his fingers barely holding onto him. Blaine sank down to the wet pavement, cradling him on his lap.

"It's okay," he murmured, trying to shield him from the rain. "It's okay, Kurt. I'm here. I've got you."

Sebastian kept talking, yelling with that horrible off-kilter, too loud tone he always got when he'd had too much to drink, and Blaine ignored him. "He's not worth it," he whispered in Kurt's ear. "Don't listen to him. He's not worth it. I'm here."

Kurt's fingers tightened, just a little, like a child struggling to keep from falling, and Blaine held him close until Sebastian shouted his last obscenities and stormed away. He stroked Kurt's hair, letting him press his cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. "He's gone," he whispered at last. "He's gone. You're safe."

Kurt struggled to sit up, wet blood smeared across his face. His makeup was running, his mascara streaking down his cheeks but his lips still deep rosy red. He was so pale, the moonlight making his skin look whiter, and Blaine helped him to his feet. The dazed look in Kurt's eyes was beginning to make him nervous.

"Kurt, what's going on?" he asked, his fingers wrapping around Kurt's upper arms. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Kurt lifted his chin, his wide blue eyes barely meeting his gaze, and all he could do was shake his head. His wet hair was plastered his forehead, rivulets running over his pale cheeks and smearing what was left of his makeup. "I'm…I'm not okay," he whispered. His shoulders shook under his grip. "I'm not okay, Blaine, I'm not, I'm not okay."

Kurt was shivering, Blaine realized, shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering. His clothes were drenched and sticking to his rail-thin body. He didn't have a coat, and one of his shoes was badly torn. "You're soaked," Blaine said, stripping out of his warm North Face jacket and tucking it around Kurt. "Come on, we need to get you out of the rain."

He took Kurt by the hand and led him to the car. Kurt clutched his fingers in a daze, his hand trembling in Blaine's gentle grip. Blaine had to support his weight to help him into the car, and when Kurt's cold hand fumbled on the seatbelt, he reached across to buckle him in.

He ran around to the front seat and climbed in, slamming the door behind him. "Where do you need me to take you?" he asked, turning on the overhead lights. "Is there-"

His voice trailed off. Kurt huddled in the seat beside him, the collar of the jacket turned up over his ears, his slim body shaking. Blaine reached over and stroked a lock of wet hair off Kurt's forehead. "Hey," he said gently. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe."

Kurt hid his face in his hand. "I messed up," he said. "I messed up, and nothing's ever going to be okay, and-"

Blaine took Kurt's cold hand and squeezed hard. "Things can get better," he promised. "I know it. I'll help however I can." Kurt still sagged in his seat, his eyes downcast, and Blaine impulsively pressed his lips to Kurt's palm. "Your hands are like ice."

"I'm cold," Kurt murmured.

Blaine reached over and switched the heat on full-blast. "Where do you want me to take you?" he asked, trying to massage some of the icy stiffness out of Kurt's fingers. "We'll go anywhere you want."

Kurt closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, the sound choked and thick. "Highlands, in the north side of town," he murmured, rubbing his cheek against the plush seat cover. "The house is…6303.…Braemoor.."

"Okay," Blaine said, taking a right turn, "Okay, I can do that. Is it your house, or your friend's house, or-"

"Finn's house," Kurt managed to eke out before he broke into a harsh, painful sounding cough. "It's…it's…"

He coughed hard into his cupped hands, pulling away sharply. "Hey, it's okay, I'll get you there," Blaine reassured, squeezing Kurt's shoulder. "Just lie still, okay?"

Kurt kept coughing until he suddenly doubled over, spitting wetly into his palm. Blaine jumped. "What's wrong?" he said, his voice rising higher than he intended. "What's wrong?"

He pulled Kurt's hand away from his mouth and nearly lost control of the car. "Oh my god," he breathed. "You're bleeding."

Kurt stared at the dark little spots on his shaking fingers, dazed. "I think I'm sick," he murmured.

"I think you are," Blaine said, startled. He folded Kurt's fingers into a loose fist and squeezed it lightly. "Lie down, lie down." He stretched across Kurt's knees and lowered the seat so he could lean back. "You're still shaking. Are you still cold?"

"I'm always cold," Kurt mumbled, huddling into a tighter ball, his knees tucked up to his chest.

"We'll be there soon," Blaine said. He touched the back of Kurt's forehead tentatively, the way his sister always did when she checked for a fever, and drew back sharply. "You're burning up."

"I'm sorry," Kurt murmured, holding his bloodstained fingers closer to his chest.

Blaine stopped at a red light, his heart thumping wildly. Kurt was sick. Kurt was dangerously sick. "Maybe I should take you to a hos-"

"No," Kurt said sharply, sitting up a little. His damp hair fell against his forehead. "No, no, I'm okay. I don't need to go to a hospital. I don't, I can't, I just…just take me to Finn's house."

"Okay," Blaine said helplessly, gripping the steering wheel tightly and staring blankly at the rain-dark street. "Okay, I won't take you to a hospital."

Kurt fell back against the seat, breathing heavily. Blaine drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and before he could change his mind, he pulled out his phone, fumbled at his contacts list, and thumped out a text message.

_have kurt bringin him 2 ur house really sick_

The car behind him honked impatiently and he dropped his phone as he stepped on the gas pedal. Kurt jerked up, startled like a deer in headlights, and Blaine squeezed his knee lightly.

"It's okay," he soothed. "We're almost there, baby. You're going to be okay."

Kurt said nothing as the sketchiness of downtown faded to smaller suburbs, and then even smaller residential streets. Blaine's stomach ached. Kurt was getting quieter and quieter, except for the ever-present coughing. Finally Blaine reached over and took his hand, linking their fingers together, and Kurt squeezed back, just a little.

Blaine took a sharp right onto a sleepy side street, his heart skipping a beat. "We're on Braemoor," he said, raising Kurt's limp hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. "We're there, just tell me what side of the street the house is on."

But Kurt never answered, and he didn't need to, because as he inched down the street, scanning the white mailbox numbers in the rain, he saw Finn standing in the driveway of a blue house with light blazing out of every window, the door behind him open.

Blaine pulled crookedly into the driveway and parked, already reaching for his seatbelt. "Kurt, it's okay, we're here," he said, but Finn had yanked the passenger side door open, making the car ding noisily in protest.

"What's wrong?" Finn demanded, cupping Kurt's cheek in his huge hand. "What's going on?"

Kurt coughed hard, blood flecking his lips, and Finn scooped him up in his arms to pull him out of the car. "C'mon, Blaine, let's get him inside," he said sharply, and Blaine tugged the keys out of the ignition and followed him into the house, not even bothering to lock the doors.

Rain pelted Blaine's face as he jogged behind Finn. Kurt looked so small in Finn's arms, frighteningly small, and it seemed like he didn't even have enough strength to lift his head off Finn's shoulder. Blaine reached up and touched Kurt's forehead lightly, brushing a strand of hair away, and it seemed like a light sparked in his brilliant blue eyes for just a moment.

A pretty blonde girl stood in the doorway of the house, arms crossed over her chest as she watched them like a hawk, and she took a step back as Finn carried Kurt into the living room. "He's drenched," she said sharply. "Finn, put him down on the couch and get some dry clothes from your room."

Finn obeyed, setting Kurt down carefully, his long thin legs folding under him, and ran up the stairs. The girl closed the door and eyed Blaine coolly. "You're the boy from Dalton," she said.

"Blaine Anderson," he said, reaching out to shake her hand and quickly rethinking. "I'm…Kurt…we're friends. We're friends, and he called me, and-"

Kurt doubled over on the couch, coughing into his hands, and the blonde crossed the room quickly to kneel beside him, helping him out of Blaine's soaked jacket. Blaine hung back, anxious and awkward, and watched Kurt's lashes part softly, just a little bit, as his coughing fit subsided for a split second. The blonde girl stroked his hair, watching his face anxiously. Kurt swallowed hard. "Quinn," he croaked.

"Lie still," she soothed, wrapping her fingers around his. "Finn will be back in just a second, okay?"

Kurt's narrow chest heaved. "Where's Blaine?" he rasped.

Quinn glanced back at him over her shoulder and Blaine took a step forward. "I'm right here," he said. "What's wrong?"

Kurt pulled his hand away from Quinn's and reached towards him. Blaine leaned over the back of the armrest and squeezed his hand tightly. Quinn picked up a box of tissues from the end table and began to silently clean the blood and makeup from Kurt's face. He submitted quietly to her gentle touch, allowing her to tilt his chin so she could wipe the blood from his neck and jaw. She washed his face clean, until all that was left was shadowing around Kurt's brilliant eyes. For this first time, Blaine could see the soft freckles on Kurt's nose, and it was so unbearably human that he had to squeeze Kurt's hand harder.

Finn ran down the stairs. "Here," he said, tossing a thick towel towards Quinn. "Get him dried off before he freezes to death. I've got some clothes for him."

Quinn helped Kurt sit up, her hand splayed across his lower back, and tugged at the buttons of his shirt. He tried to help, his fingers shaking, and Finn stepped in to help. Blaine held tightly to Kurt's hand as they pulled off his cold wet clothes, stripping him down to his slim-fitting boxer briefs, and draped the towel around him.

Quinn dried off his wet hair, rubbing it gently with the thick towel. Kurt closed his eyes, still shivering, a little blue around the lips, and Blaine stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. "He's shaking really bad," Finn said, and he sat beside Kurt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Kurt said nothing, just closed his eyes and leaned into his shoulder like he was exhausted. "Let's get him dried off and dressed first," Quinn said, still messing with Kurt's soaked hair. "Blaine, can you help me? Finn, hold him up."

Blaine let go of Kurt's hand and picked up the clothes Finn had brought- thick fleece pajama pants, a long sleeved shirt, and wool socks. "I can dress myself," Kurt said, almost snapping at them as he reached for the shirt. He pulled it on, but slowly. Blaine handed him the pajama pants silently, but once he was dressed Quinn lifted his legs onto her lap and pulled on the socks. The clothes were laughably too big for him, the hems hiding his ankles and the sleeves covering his hands.

She cupped his hand in hers and used a corner of the damp towel to wipe the blood off his fingers. "Do you need something to drink?" she asked.

"Just some water," he murmured, leaning back against the arm of the couch. His eyes closed slowly; the skin around his eyes was thin and pale, the blue veins standing out starkly. Finn got up and walked towards the kitchen. "If I can just…stay here for a little bit…I'll go. I'm sorry. I didn't think this through."

"You're not going anywhere," Finn said, thrusting a plastic cup of ice water into his hands. Kurt drank greedily, water dripping down his chin, and Quinn brushed it away with her thumb. "I've already called my mom and she's on her way home, she got off work early. You're not getting out of this."

Kurt sighed heavily, dropping his cheek against his hand, and curled up in a tighter ball. "I'm freezing," he said through his teeth.

Quinn picked up a fleece blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him, then paused and touched his forehead. "I think you're running a fever," she said.

"I just have a cold," Kurt murmured.

"You're coughing up blood," Blaine said. He took both of Kurt's hands in his. "I've watched you, Kurt. I've watched you get thinner, and sicker, and weaker, and…please. Just let us help, okay?"

Kurt paused, looking up at him with wide startled eyes, and then just sank back against the couch like a chastised child. Finn reached over and brushed the back of his hand against Kurt's cheek. "He's burning up," he said. "Shit, I hope my mom gets here soon." Blaine squeezed Kurt's hands gently, feeling the faint light thump of his pulse in his thin wrists. Finn opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then tried again. "Kurt…what happened? Where've you been?"

Kurt just looked at him, his white lips slack. "Where's your aunt?" Quinn pressed. "Why isn't she taking care of you? Is she hurting you? Is she abusive?"

"I can't…I can't tell you," Kurt whispered, looking down at his hands clasped in Blaine's.

"Look, Kurt…something's wrong," Finn said. "We all know it. It's just…you won't talk to us. You haven't talked to us since your dad died, not really, and-"

"I can't," Kurt said, closing his eyes. "I made a mistake." He tried to sit up. "I need to go. I'm sorry. I need to go…"

Blaine tried to make him lean back down; Finn tried to press back on his shoulder. But Kurt was still trying to pull away, to struggle to his feet, yanking his hands away from Blaine's grip, and Blaine's heart thudded in his ribs. Kurt couldn't do this. Not now. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

But the front door open and an older woman, kind-faced with slight lines around her mouth and eyes, walked in, closing the door behind her. Kurt froze like a deer in headlights.

The woman set down her work bag and umbrella, her eyes trained on Kurt. Blaine rocked back on his heels, just watching. She crossed the silent living room without saying a word, sat down on the edge of the couch, and pulled Kurt into her arms.

Kurt stayed frozen for a split second, and then all of a sudden he slowly began to lean into her, his eyes closing. Blaine couldn't help it, he just reached up and stroked Kurt's damp hair lightly, trying to help soothe him.

"Mom, he's sick," Finn whispered. "Something's wrong."

Carole held Kurt close, letting him lean onto her shoulder like a tired child, and rubbed his back. Kurt sank into the comfort of her hug, his eyes closed tightly.

"My boy," she murmured, rocking him against his shoulder. "My sweet boy. Oh, honey."

A shudder ran down Kurt's spine, making him shiver violently, and Blaine pressed his cheek against his hair, willing for things to be okay, for things to get better.

"Carole, I'm in trouble," Kurt burst out. "I'm in trouble, and I don't know what to do."

She hugged him tighter, stroking steadily up and down his shaking back "Don't worry about it," she entreated. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay. We'll all help you, all right? You're going to be okay."

Kurt nodded. His hand crept out a little, seeking Blaine's, and Blaine grabbed his fingers tightly in both of his, kissing his knuckles and rubbing warmth into his icy skin.

Carole rocked back on her heels and eyed him critically. "Sweetheart, you're skin and bones," she said, running her thumb down his cheek. "And you're running a fever. Finn, go upstairs and get the thermometer, and Quinn, could you go heat up some soup? Something that'll be hot and easy for him to swallow." She turned to Blaine and raised an eyebrow. "And you are-"

"Blaine," he said, holding his hand out awkwardly. "Blaine Anderson. I'm a friend of Kurt's."

She eyed their clasped hands. "Friends, or-"

"Well, we're sort of…kind of…" Blaine stammered. "Friends. We're friends."

Carole looked like she wanted to press further, but Kurt coughed quietly into his hand and that caught her attention. "Sweetheart, how long have you had that cough?" she asked. "You sound awfully congested."

"I think I got a cold back around…January, maybe. Or February," Kurt said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And then it just…didn't get better."

"It doesn't sound like a cold," she said. "More like bronchitis. Maybe pneumonia."

Finn pressed the thermometer into her hand. "You need me to get anything else?" he asked.

"Not right now- thanks, honey," she said, uncapping the thermometer and sliding it between Kurt's lips. "Hold that steady."

Finn sat down on the arm of the couch, arms folded across his chest, frowning. "You never told me you were sick," he said.

"I haven't…said a lot of things," Kurt murmured.

The thermometer beeped and Carole checked it. "A hundred and two," she said, setting aside. "All right, honey. You're going to stay here for the night and I'll take you to the doctor in the morning. Tell me your aunt's number, I'll give her a call so she won't worry." She stood up, patting Kurt's shoulder. "Although if she let you end up like this, I might end up just giving her a piece of my mind instead."

The last hint of color drained from Kurt's face. Carole frowned. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand. "Tell her," he whispered.

"Tell us what?" Finn asked.

Kurt swallowed hard, tried to speak, failed. He looked up at them, terrified. "There is no aunt," he said in a tiny voice.

Carole froze. Finn just stared at him. Blaine looked down at his fingers laced through Kurt's.

Kurt tried to take a deep breath, but it rattled in his throat. "There is no aunt," he repeated, small and pitiful. "No one…no one wanted me, after my dad died."

"So…what, you've been living by yourself?" Carole said, sitting back down beside him. "All by yourself in that big empty house."

"The bank took the house."

"When?"

"Months ago."

"Then where have you been living?"

"In my car," Kurt confessed, and his lips began to tremble.

Carole covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh my god, Kurt…" she breathed.

Blaine rubbed Kurt's slim fingers. "The bank took the house," he said again. "I couldn't…I couldn't pay the bills, there were just too many, and paying for the funeral…I couldn't. The garage got bought out, and the bank took the house, and…I got a normal job, I did, I tried, but it didn't pay very much at all."

A tear escaped and slid down Kurt's cheek; he swiped at it impatiently with a shaking hand. "I found a job that paid better," he said, his voice tight and pitched too high. "A lot better. I was going to…to save my money, and graduate from high school, and then once I had the money and my diploma I was going to get access to the college fund that my parents put up for me, and between that and the money I saved I could afford to go to school and just…forget about everything, and-"

"Where were you working?" Carole asked in a low voice.

"I was making a lot of money," Kurt pleaded.

"Honey, _where_?" she pressed.

"Stripping," he whispered.

The room fell silent.

"I didn't know what else to do," he begged. "Everything got out of control, and I didn't know what to do, and…my dad would hate me now. If my dad knew what I've been doing, and my mom, they would hate me, just like-"

He choked off midsentence and started to get up, breaking away from Blaine's grip, but Finn moved faster than he thought possible and grabbed Kurt tightly, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug. "No one hates you," he said fiercely. "Nobody hates you. Especially not…god, Kurt, your dad could never hate you, ever."

He sagged in Finn's grip, his knees buckling, and Carole crossed to him quickly, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "It's going to be all right, Kurt," she said, and Kurt's face crumpled as he started to cry.

Finn lowered him slowly to the ground, sinking down beside him, and Kurt huddled on the floor with his face hidden in his hands. Carole pulled him onto her lap, rocking him gently against her shoulder. "It's all going to be okay," she kept murmuring as she stroked his damp hair. "Sh, sh, sh. It's all going to be okay."

Kurt clung to her, his face buried in her shoulder, sobbing fiercely. Finn reached out a shaking hand to touch his back. Blaine sat in stunned silence on the couch, his folded hands pressed to his mouth. His stomach hurt just watching them, listening to the raw terror in the sound of Kurt's sobs. He looked so young, curled up on the floor like that, and with a sickening clench of his heart it finally sank in that Kurt _was _young. For so long he'd seen Kurt as that polished, glossy performer, but behind all of that he was just a sixteen-year-old child, scared and alone and hurting.

It took a while for Kurt to settle down again, but Carole seemed to be nothing but patience. Even Finn just sat still and quiet beside them, his hand rubbing lightly across Kurt's bony back. Kurt's father and Carole were going to get married, Blaine remembered, shifting uncomfortably at the thought. They didn't see Kurt the way he did- they saw him as a son, a younger brother. He was family. Their prodigal.

Kurt's crying faded into a light cough, and Carole wiped his tears away with her thumb. "Don't you worry about anything, sweetheart," she said, her voice thick. "You're going to stay with us, and Finn and I will take care of everything, all right?"

Kurt nodded slightly, his blue eyes bloodshot, and Carole kissed him on the forehead. "Oh, my baby," she sighed. "My poor baby." She kissed him again and rubbed his upper arms gently. "Let's get you to bed and get you something to eat, all right? We'll take care of everything else in the morning."

Kurt nodded again. "He can sleep in my room," Finn said, standing up and lifting Kurt easily. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Blaine," Kurt said, his voice cracking a little. "Can Blaine stay? Please?"

"Of course, sweetheart, Blaine can stay," Carole reassured him.

Blaine got up from the couch, his chest aching, and followed them up the stairs. Finn's room was small and cluttered, but the narrow twin bed was neatly made. Finn set him down gently and lifted the blankets back. "You all right? Are you cold?"

"'mokay," Kurt said, shivering a little bit.

Finn pulled the blankets sloppily over his legs, then paused and kissed the top of Kurt's head. "I'm glad you're okay," he said. "And…and don't leave again, all right?"

Kurt nodded. Finn squeezed his shoulder and left quickly, brushing past Blaine with his head down. Blaine took a step towards Kurt. He looked worn out and thinner than ever. "How're you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Tired," Kurt said, leaning back against the pillow. "Mostly just tired, I guess." He held out a tentative hand. "Could…could you…"

Blaine took his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Everything's going to be all right now, I think," he said, smiling at him. "They love you so much. They want to help you."

"I don't deserve it," Kurt said dully. "I've messed up so much. I don't deserve to-"

Blaine covered Kurt's lips lightly with his fingertips. "Don't say that," he said softly. "Nah-uh. You deserve to get better. Now matter how much you think you've messed, you can always come back."

Kurt regarded him solemnly, his large eyes very blue in the half light, and after a gentle pause he closed his eyes and kissed Blaine's fingertips.

"Hey, I brought you something to eat," Quinn said, nudging the door open with her hip. "It's just soup, but it's hot." She placed the bowl down on the nightstand and eyed him carefully. "I have to go home, but…you're going to stay here, right? With the Hudsons?"

He nodded. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, brushing his hair thoughtfully off his forehead, and left.

Kurt tried to pick up the bowl, but it was too heavy and shook in his hands. "Here, let me," Blaine said softly. He balanced it in his hands as Kurt took a small, cautious spoonful. After that first bite he started shoveling it into his mouth like he was starving, soup dripping down his chin. Blaine wiped it away gently.

"Sorry," Kurt mumbled. "I'm…I'm hungry."

"It's okay," Blaine said. He set the empty bowl down on the nightstand. "You were hungry a lot, weren't you?"

Kurt nodded, pulling his knees into his chest. "Blaine?" he ventured.

"Uh-huh?"

Kurt chewed on his thumbnail. "What's supposed to happen after this?" he asked, his voice strained and quiet.

Blaine slid closer to him on the bed. "What do you mean?" he said.

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know what's going to happen now," he said. "And I don't…I don't think you'll want to stay. Not with me."

"Hey," Blaine said softly, tilting Kurt's chin up. "You can't push me away. Not now. I'm not going anywhere." He ran his thumb along Kurt's lower lip. "As long as you want me, I'm here."

Kurt watched him thoughtfully, his gaze softening. "Could you kiss me?" he asked in a small voice. "Not…not Padgett Price, but…me. Just me."

"I would love to kiss you, Kurt," Blaine said, and he smiled as the light began to shine in his brilliant blue eyes. He cupped Kurt's face in his hands and leaned in close as Kurt's fingers tangled in his dark curls, his breath soft and warm against his cheek, and captured his lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

* * *

_Two years later…_

Blaine shifted a little in the warm cocoon of their bed. It was still dark out, but there was just the faintest promise of early-morning sunrise hinting on the horizon.

He eased up a little bit against the pillows and smiled down at his sleeping boyfriend. Kurt's cheek was pillowed on his shoulder, his fingers curled up against Blaine's collarbone. Blaine shifted a little till he could touch his lips to the back of Kurt's hand. Kurt sighed in his sleep and nestled closer to his warmth.

Blaine studied Kurt, watching the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he breathed deeply. He was beautiful, even more beautiful than he'd been on the stage back in the old days. Funny, he didn't even really think of that anymore, of how they met. That had faded away quickly, as soon as Kurt told the Hudsons about what happened. Everything happened so fast after that- Carole applying for and receiving custody, Finn rearranging his room and making space in the house for Kurt to live with them, the tangled up process of getting control of Burt Hummel's frozen accounts and putting them into Kurt's name. And of course there was the long road of recovery for Kurt, once he was diagnosed with pneumonia and given a long-term course of antibiotics.

But they'd had each other. It was unspoken between the two of them, but somehow…Blaine just never left, and Kurt never asked him to go. That first spring together, that on-edge, touch-and-go couple of months, eased them into a quiet summer filled with lazy, easy kisses and a chance to get to know each other- for real this time. By the time their senior year began in the fall, Blaine was at McKinley with him, Kurt was stronger and healthier and happier, and they were inseparable.

Blaine traced Kurt's soft fingertips, marveling again at how lucky they were, how lucky he was. Kurt's soft hair brushed against his cheek and he kissed him lightly, trying not to wake him.

But Kurt roused just a bit, blinking up at him sleepily. "Hi," he murmured.

"Good morning," Blaine smiled. "You can go back to sleep. Your first class isn't till ten."

"Yours is at eight," Kurt countered sleepily. He nuzzled at the curve of Blaine's jaw. "Want me to make coffee?"

"How can you get out of bed when it's so cold out?" Blaine said, wrapping his arms around Kurt and hugging him to his chest. "Let's just hide here forever until it stops snowing outside."

"But I like the snow," Kurt said. "It's Christmas in New York, Blaine, how could we not love it?"

"When it's ten degrees out and you want to leave our bed to make coffee," Blaine said, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Kurt's. "Stay here and keep me warm. Stay, stay, stay."

"Fine, but if you won't let me get up and make coffee, then I'm going to be grumpy," Kurt warned, but he snuggled closer to him.

"I'll make you some," Blaine said. He smiled thoughtfully, brushing a lock of hair out of Kurt's eyes. "I love you."

Kurt smiled up at him, sleepy and angelic. "I love you too," he said.

He leaned up to kiss him, his soft lips slightly clumsy in his drowsiness, and Blaine tucked the thick duvet tighter around his slender frame as he kissed him back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"You're perfect," he murmured against Kurt's soft lips, and he felt Kurt smile.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

****And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end!

Y'ALL I FINISHED A STORY SOMEONE CUE THE TICKER TAPE PARADE AND START THROWING CONFETTI BECAUSE IT'S A MIRACLE!

I can't believe how far this has come. It started off as a drabble on Tumblr that turned into a oneshot, and then it turned int a multichapter, and now...it's finished! It's done!

SOMEONE GO TELL DAX SHE CAN FINALLY READ SOMETHING I WROTE!

I think I'm really happy with this one. Hopefully the end is just schmoopy enough without being too schmoopy. But Kurt needed some love and catharsis after all of this. And Blaine had a nice character growth arc too, I feel. In the very beginning he was very innocently spoiled and selfish, not because he's a bad kid but just because he's never had to think about anyone else, and by the end he's standing up for Kurt and taking care of him. And that makes me happy. Hopefully the character growth was as successful to you as a reader as it is in my head.

Yeah. I'm just really happy.

And if you haven't listened to the song "Poison and Wine" by the Civil Wars, go listen to it. It's basically the theme song for this story.

Special thanks to Zoey, Vale, Margaret, Boog, and Christina for their love and encouragement and beta-reading through this whole process. And thank you to everyone who's loved my sweet stripper!Kurt and left reviews.

And also, I'm freakishly proud of myself for finishing something.

Now that this is done, it's time to edit and update Goodnight, so I hope you'll stick around for that!


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